


Join Me In The Afterlife

by guccikings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Chaptered, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Cults, Demons, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Sex, Ghost Harry, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Haunted Houses, Human Louis, Hurt Harry Styles, Hurt/Comfort, I mean Harry is a ghost, I promise it's half as bad as the tags sound I SWEAR, I repeat HAPPY ENDING, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Louis Tomlinson Takes Care of Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson is Protective of Harry Styles, M/M, Mass shooting PAST just a little mention here and there don't worry guys, Medium Zayn Malik, Minor Violence, Murder Mystery, Music Student Louis Tomlinson, Mystery, Nightmares, Oblivious Louis Tomlinson, Past Character Death, Poetry, Pop Culture, Protective Louis Tomlinson, Sad Harry Styles, Semi-Public Sex, Sensitive Harry Styles, Singer Louis Tomlinson, Singer Niall Horan, Sleepwalking, Slow Burn, Smut, Song writing, Summer Love, There is a lot of death in the tags it's not that bad I promise, Top Harry, YouTuber Louis Tomlinson, YouTuber Niall Horan, it's a ghost au for a reason guys, mentions of depression, the ending is in the title btw, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-01-15 15:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 262,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccikings/pseuds/guccikings
Summary: Harry looks at him, his eyes narrowing as an amused, coy smile creeps onto his lips. "They say it’s haunted. Loads of rumours are going around town," he chuckles and rubs below his nose, giving a single shoulder shrug.Louis laughs breathily. "I mean…" he draws the word out, his gaze bouncing around the room, "I kinda get it," he settles on saying, recalling last night when it was quiet, his room shadowed and set in silvery moon light, giving it a haunted kind of appearance.Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, perplexity colouring his pale face. "Do you?"Or, the one where Louis is a simple guy - all he wants from his summer break is to spend some quality time with his mother, get to know her new husband, and learn to play the guitar. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is for sure. However, life has a funny way of working and when Louis finds a strange boy sitting on his bed one sunny day, his summer break takes a turn for the better (or worse) when he discovers a ghost has stolen his heart from the get-go.





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, guys! 
> 
> I started working on this fic a couple months ago instead of studying for my final exam, ehm, oops? It was meant to be around 80K...well, that didn't happen, I just can't keep myself short so it jumped up to around 200K naturally. I wrote every day 6-9hours and...that seems really crazy in hindsight but I wanted to be finished by Halloween. And I made it. Wow haha. Anyways. 
> 
> I know the tags seem a bit heavy themed...to put it lightly...but don't worry, most of it is just a small mention - a blink and you miss it kind of situation. Also, it's a ghost au, people have to die, that's how it works, sadly. BUT I added an extra portion of happy to the happy ending, so I hope it'll be satisfying for you guys once you get through the angsty parts - I hate to spoil it, but the ending is in the title, also. 
> 
> Disclaimer: used songs, poetry and lyrics are not mine, credits to the owners. I only wrote this fic, that's it. Nothing mentioned in this story ever happened, it's not real. Thankfully. I made everything up. Phew. 
> 
> Last but not least: a massive thank you goes to my wonderful friend and beta [serena](https://tempolarriefix.tumblr.com/)! without you, I would have given up on this story a while ago. Thank you so much for your help, your support and encouragement. I love you so, so, so much. Thank you a thousand and more times. 
> 
> If you want to come for a chat, be my friend, or simply say hello, you can find me on [tumblr](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/harryeatsburger)
> 
> Enjoy! :)

*** * * **

Louis is dying. 

Dying, as in his life has come to a violent, painful end and not the way that he’d prefer dying at all, if there is such a thing as a preference in how you want to go. He had always imagined that he would go out with a bang, because you only get to die once, right? Something dramatic, something a tad more special, like being hit by a piano, or bitten by a tiger, or something so silly he could make it on that show _ ‘a hundred stupid ways to die’ _ he and Niall binge-watched on a rainy Sunday afternoon instead of doing their coursework. 

What he never expected is that he’d be leaving earth as a man drowning in his own reeking sweat while the midday sun roasts his nape, his arms shaking from the weight of the boxes he had been decreed to carry inside the house; and if that isn’t already enough, he is suffering from the _ worst _ hangover in history. Is he exaggerating? Perhaps. Is it fucking appreciated? Oh, definitely. 

Louis is gasping, hauling yet another elephantine box out of the boot of Matt’s car — how much shit do his mother and Matt have? Too much, that’s for sure. Why couldn’t they just donate it to charity? It’d make so many lives better and that includes Louis’ life, which, to remind himself, God, and every mind reader out there, is on the line here and nobody cares, not even Lottie. His little sister is partying her arse off in Spain with her fiancé. The engagement, Louis comes slowly to the conclusion, was just a bluff to get out of helping Jay and her husband move into their newly bought home. 

Louis, deeply, with his entire perishing existence, bemoans having conceded to spend his beloved semester break, which he had been looking forward to since university started, with his mother. 

He also wants to kick himself to have agreed to go binge drinking as ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you soon’ with Niall last night, and he regrets declining Niall’s invitation to join him on his trip to Ireland to visit his lovely, wonderful family who are always fun to be around. 

Gradually, Louis comes to terms with the fact that he made many mistakes in a short span of time. He had jumped too fast into action when his mother called and asked if he would like to come and help without considering what it meant for him, his poor body, and his break. 

Out in the sun, he begins to hate them, every single one of them. There are no exceptions: Niall, his mother, Lottie, Matt, himself, the trees, the sun, the bloody heat, alcohol, every cigarette he has ever smoked, summer, skipping the gym for like three years, and this fucking house. 

“Y’know what?” Louis mutters under his breath to himself, eyeing the still half-loaded car with dread. “Dying actually doesn’t sound _ too _ bad.” After all, if he is six feet under, he won’t have to take another painful step in his goddamn _ life _. 

Setting the box, that presumably contains _ rocks _ , on the ground, he wipes sweat off his pounding forehead with the back of his trembling hand, which he rubs dry afterwards on his already dirt-stained, too-tight, and uncomfortable trousers. Fuck this. _ Just fuck it. _

"Oh, you’re a darling for carrying the books!" His mother effervesces, clapping her hands once as a bright smile enlightens her face. "Matt wanted to save them for last." 

Louis stares at her dead on and inhales through his nostrils, reminding himself that neither murder nor a tantrum would be an appropriate response. 

She comes over to him, still grinning at his misery as he endures the act of her combing her fingers through his tousled, damp hair. 

"Don’t look so grumpy. You’ve almost made it. Think positively, Louis — the sooner you’re done, the sooner it’s over, correct?” Jay beams at him, petting his head some more. Then, she crinkles her nose, probably realising it wasn’t a great idea to stick her fingers in Louis’ messy, sweaty hair.

Louis knows that expression too well: it means she thinks something is disgusting, but she’s too nice to point it out. He watches her as she rubs her thumb over the pads of her fingers, as if to sprinkle a bit of salt over a meal.

Jay clears her throat. “You’re doing well,” she says, and with a last smile at him goes into the shadows of the house, away from the sun, away from the remaining boxes waiting for Louis in the car without offering any kind of help, or even an aspirin. Typical. 

Narrowing his eyes at her, he leaves the box standing in the doorway. Matt, the lazy bastard, can take care of it from here. He goes to the car and gets another box out. Since this one is lighter, he quickens his steps to get it under wraps and over with, gritting his teeth the entire way. 

After three more rounds of going to the car and to the front steps of the house, the car is nearly cleared and the doorway is currently loaded with ugly, heavy, brown boxes that build a wall, blocking the way in and out. Clever thinking, that. 

The only decent thing is that they left their old furniture behind because the house already came with fitting household furnishings, which spares Louis’ back and therefore a last bit of motivation to take a walk around the house and slip indoors via the terrace sliding door. Because, yes, now they have a sliding door made out of glass that leads to the terrace and garden area. Wow. Who has his mother become? Fancy. 

Matt, his mother’s fresh new husband, sits in the living room, his legs stretched in front of him in a V-shape. It looks weird, seeing a man over fifty sitting in such a childlike position, tongue poking out, forehead wrinkled, and eyes fixed on the cables in his hands. The floor space between his legs is filled with a million more cables which seem to belong to the telly and other devices for human entertainment. 

For one moment, every bit of Louis’ pain and suffering stops and he smiles at the view in front of him. Good, at least Matt is as miserable as him. Before Matt has any chance to look up and give the task to Louis, he moves quickly through the living room. He’d more willingly carry another box than spend the entire day with cables between his fingers and frustration an encumbrance on his shoulders. Louis is quite impatient like that — anything that takes longer than ten minutes to fix is like a death sentence, he just can’t. 

Entering the kitchen, he finds his mother sorting tableware into cabinets and storing pans on shelves and whatnot. Since he would only do harm in the kitchen or make a mess which his mum would have to organise later on anyway, he passes to the foyer where he is faced with the barrier of boxes, resembling big, brown, rectangular puzzle pieces. No, thank you. 

Assuming he is well-deserving of a rest now, he makes an attempt to sneak up the stairs, but doesn’t get very far. As if his mother had sniffed something in the air that told her he wanted to get away for a while, she pokes her head into the foyer. 

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” By the tone of her voice, he can tell that it’s a lost battle before it has even started. It’s unfair. 

“I wanted to take a nap?” It was meant as a clear statement, but came out as a pouty question. 

“And you’re going to leave it like this?” she gestures to the puzzle blocking the doorway, her expression turning stern when he is hesitant to answer. 

His shoulders slump, knowing what is going to come, but trying to get around it nonetheless. He is hungover, and he worked the entire morning on top of a long, frustrating drive. He got lost on the way here a few times. It was a task on its own, the house hidden like a secret in the woods. It was awful; not even his navigation system could help him and had guided him on wrong turns on several occasions. “Uh, I mean...yeah?” he clears his throat awkwardly, “I thought Matt was going to take it from here.” 

“Matt is busy and these boxes are too heavy for me to carry.” 

Yes, no shit. Louis is well aware of just _ how _ fucking heavy these boxes are, his arms are still shaky by his sides.

“Please Louis?” she adds, using her mother-privileges and smiling at him too sweetly and oh-so-innocently. He isn’t fooled. She is the devil in person today. “After you’re done with them you can do what you want, I promise.” 

He gives the second level a yearning look. Up there is a marvelous bed waiting for him. It would have been a wonderful date. He and his bed, that is. Best relationship, hands down. He definitely would recommend it. What if he just would...she is not _ that _ fast, she can’t be, right? There is a good chance he _ could _ make it —

“Louis…” she says in warning, as if she can sense his desire to dash up the stairs, lock the door, and not come out of his room for the rest of his stay here. 

He sighs out of his nose, the sound of a guy who has truly given up. It’s sad, so sad. He hops down the two steps that would have led to blissful relief. “_ Gosh _, fine, okay, I will do it.” 

“Thank you, sweetie.” Clearly satisfied, she gives him a look of approval before disappearing into the kitchen. His eyebrow twitches in plain annoyance. 

“_ Thank you, sweetie _,” he mocks her under his breath, pulling a grimace. His eyes dart to the box-puzzle he had no intention of solving and he heaves another miserable exhale. “Fuck this.” He wants to kick something. 

Louis cries inwardly as he takes the first box at the very top and places it on the first step of the stairs. His mind goes dizzy for a second, his head still throbbing as if someone is hitting it repeatedly with a hammer. He presses his fingers into his forehead, shaking his head and praying that the pain will fall right off — it doesn’t. 

When his mind stops spinning, he peeks inside the moving container since they didn’t label anything — why would they? Yeah, sure, because why take the easy road when there is a complicated way, innit? 

Today is national _ ‘torture Louis day’. _ Obviously. 

The contents of box number one are random knick-knacks. He takes a rubber ball out, throwing it in the air before catching it easily. He lifts his eyebrows at it and places it back with the other useless items, guessing it belongs to Matt since he can’t remember himself or his mother ever owning a rubber ball. Shrugging to himself, he puts the box next to the staircase, right in front of the door that leads to the basement. 

The contents of the second box are kitchenware and he carries it over to his mother who smiles at him in silent thanks. 

In the foyer he goes on like this: glimpsing into each box, discovering what is in it and then either placing it at the side of the staircase or carrying it to a room downstairs.

Just as he puts the box with books on the ground in the living room, giving it a gloomy glower, Matt looks up. Before he can say something that would involve Louis in the cable dilemma, he withdraws from the scene and goes into the kitchen for a large glass of water, his throat itching with thirst. 

"How’s it going, hun? It wasn’t that bad, was it?" his mother asks, checking on him over her shoulder. 

"I’m done," Louis says with a hoarse voice. "I mean, literally, done. I can’t take it anymore." He ambles over to the counter, purposefully ignoring the way his knees give in with each step, and gets a glass out of an open hanging cabinet. He fills it with water and downs it in one big gulp, his body breathing in relief. Did water always taste this delicious? 

"You did well," his mother smiles, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind one ear. "I’m proud of you. Thank you for helping." 

Louis gives a single shoulder shrug and puts the glass in the sink. "Yeah, I mean, it’s summer and everyone is somewhere nice, doing nice things. Why would I be anywhere but here, mum?" 

Jay rolls her eyes and slaps half-heartedly at him. "You have your entire life ahead of you to fly out to Spain, but this will be my last move,” – Louis isn’t too sure about that because if Jay does one thing more than anything it’s moving from one place to the other. He doesn’t say that aloud though – “So the least you can do is help along a bit,” – again, Louis stays silent, but honestly ‘a bit’ is an understatement. He deserves more credit than that - “Look at this place, don’t you just love it? It’s gorgeous." 

Both of them lean their spines against the counter and have a look around. Louis crosses his arms over his chest. Well, alright, he has to admit the house is something straight out of an old movie. It has charm, a history, a personality somehow. 

The country-themed kitchen is held in a light creme colour scheme and along with the bathrooms it was one of the only rooms that was refurbished with technology and made a touch more modern. Everything else here is straight out of the seventies. 

Whilst Matt wanted to renovate the entire house, his mother, stubborn in nature, refused and wanted to leave it as it is: vintage, with creaking floorboards and a wood farmhouse kind of style, complete with old paper walls with flower and feather patterns that are so out of trend. She fell in love with the second hand furniture too. They are from the seventies or eighties as well, heavy and made out of cherrywood and scratched; however, she adored them from the moment she laid eyes on them. That’s what she told Louis and he has to admit – again – it’s sort of nice, but not really _ his _ thing. He likes new stuff, and he’d prefer everything a bit more modern, with more glass and an open floor plan. But since he won’t be staying here forever nor is it his money that was invested into buying this house, he has no choice but to nod and smile at his mother, telling her that he loves it. It is lovely, but for their money they could have seamlessly bought a sick city house in London. 

It’s definitely a contrast to her small flat, which she had lived in ever since Lottie moved out for boarding school. 

The house is huge, so huge that it is actually not a house, but rather a mansion. A mansion that used to be a farmhouse, with two brick barns out front and a huge courtyard. It came with fields too, a large backyard where a river flows through and there are wildflowers everywhere. The house is a tad far away from the town — well, it’s a small village, actually. There is nothing much but a handful of shops, a café, a library, a fitness studio, a church, one kindergarten, no other schools, and a single pub — can anyone believe that? What do people do around here? Definitely _ not _ go to the cinema because, well, there is _ none _. 

Louis had googled the place beforehand and couldn’t uncover more as he drove to the house. Perchance there is more to discover, but he has all summer. The only other thing he has to do is to try to learn guitar — he had borrowed Niall’s second guitar to teach himself a bit over break so that once he goes home, they can perform with two guitars on stage instead of only Niall playing. 

Hm, _ home… _

"Take a break. I’ll make us lunch," his mother brings him out of his head. 

He blinks at her, his eyebrows wandering upward and his lips curling at the edges in amusement. “Oh, _ now _ you’re telling me to take a break? When I’m done?” Shaking his head at her, he refills his glass. 

“You didn’t have to do it all by yourself,” she says, following him to the sliding door as Louis steps outside. He plants his bum on the outdoor couch, which is new — Matt had insisted they had to have it, and Jay hadn’t refused one bit. “Matt would have helped.” 

“Sure, sure…” Matt is probably still pretending to twiddle with the cables. He wouldn’t have helped even for a second, Louis thinks, wondering how they had even packed it considering all Matt has done is shoo Louis around from the moment he stepped foot inside this house, telling him what _ ‘they’ _ have to do to get it under wraps before sundown. “It’s almost finished now.” 

Jay opens her mouth, but shuts it right away as her husband calls for her aid. Louis grins, watching her backtrack into the kitchen with a muffled sigh. 

Groaning, he stretches his arms over his head and afterwards gets his packet of cigarettes out. He shakes it and takes one, trapping it between his lips before he lights it and inhales. The smoke shoots directly to his forehead, building a tense pressure around his headache. Louis shuts his eyelids and massages his brows. Please, let this day end soon, very soon — preferably now. 

However, it’s not over just yet and after a cigarette break, another glass of water, a piss, and a late lunch, he has returned to work. This time it’s not the task of carrying dead weight around, but unpacking his own belongings in his bedroom. 

The room is quite lovely, no trace of IKEA goods in sight, of _ course _. It’s nothing compared to any room he ever got to call his own. 

The furniture matches everything else in the house: cherrywood, vintage, and solid. He has an armchair by the window, to its right a small shelf for books and CDs, and in the middle his king sized bed. By the left side of the bed is a small nightstand and next to that is the balcony. Then, at the short wall across the closet is a desk, again, made out of cherrywood and to be honest, that thing has seen better days. It is scratched to no end and someone has scribbled unidentifiable things on the surface, even going as far as to carving unreadable names and words into the wood. 

Louis had once done the same in school with a marker and they made him remove it in front of the whole class. It was honestly the most embarrassing moment in his childhood, because he had scribbled every swear word he knew at that point in his life all over it just to have a laugh with his friends, and yet under the dark glower of his strict teacher and the titters of his fellow classmates, he had to wash it away. Anyway, moving on, childhood is done and Louis only can assume the former owner of this desk had to be a child, because Louis hadn’t had the urge to vandalise his furniture with pens or knifes lately and he is halfway to twenty-one. 

Being allowed to choose his bedroom freely is probably the only good thing that came out of Lottie being in Spain and not currently present. This way she could only shoot him a complaining text via WhatsApp as he sent her a picture, making sure she knows it’s the last remaining bedroom with access to a balcony, their parent’s room excluded. To be frank, it’s only fair that he got to claim it since he helped move in and nearly lost his life doing so, plus she quit smoking around half a year ago which means she wouldn’t have a good use for it anyway. 

Therefore, Louis can have his first cigarette of the day up here in peace as the outside world comes to life around him and have his last cigarette of the night watching the colours of the sky change. 

Now the balcony door is open, letting in a refreshing summer breeze whilst he places his suitcase on his bed and unzips it. He mostly packed comfortable joggers, tracksuits, and a few different tees. There are also two pairs of denim trousers in different colours and he made sure to have included at least one decent outfit in case they go for dinner somewhere fancy. Otherwise, he kept his clothes summery and low-key. 

After he put his clothes in the closet, he brings his toiletries to the bathroom, which is just a bit further up the corridor and the next door to his bedroom.

It is the second bathroom on the second level, since his parents have one attached to their bedroom. This also means — since Lottie is in fucking Spain — that he gets to use it all by himself, a wonderful change since he is used to sharing a flat with Niall in Bristol. Nobody will be blocking it in the morning, nor will anyone interrupt his solos in the showers to have a wee (and sometimes continue singing where Louis faltered and left off).

Once he is done with that, he puts his few books - which he has no intent of reading - on his shelf and organises his CDs, which he couldn’t bear to leave behind. Even though he has a Spotify account, he’s still smitten with a simple CD. Sometimes limitations raise the quality and definitely his attention span when listening to music, because otherwise he has the habit of skipping songs constantly. 

As a final touch, he places Niall’s guitar on the armchair and well, that’s it. He is finished. His closet might be a mess of disheveled fabric, his bed unmade, and the bookshelf veiled with a layer of dust, but hey, who cares? He made it. 

Now the only things left to do are shower, have a lay down, and take a long, endless nap, solely waking up when it's time for supper. It sounds like a plan. 

That’s what he does and when he puts his head on his fluffy pillow — it’s still without a pillow case, but he lived like that through a good amount of his first year in university, until Jay couldn’t take it anymore and brought one from home on her visit — he is out like a light.

When he wakes up, it is to complete dusk. 

He rolls onto his side, pressing his nose further into the softness of the pillow and allowing a moan to pass his dry lips. His entire body is screaming and groaning of soreness and as he tries to lift his hand to get this phone from the nightstand it aches and refuses to move as he wants it to. He drops it back onto the mattress and closes his eyes for another five minutes, no make it ten – fuck it, let’s nap fifteen more minutes, who’s counting anyway? He’s on break, worked the entire day, and if he can say so himself, he deserves a lifetime of sweet slumber. 

It doesn’t last too long though because — Louis guesses it has only been around three short minutes — a hand on his shoulder is shaking him rudely awake. He pouts, frowning, too weak to open his lids. 

"Louis, dinner’s ready," his mother whispers, very close to his ear. 

"Hmm, too tired to eat," he mumbles, his lips barely moving. 

"C’mon, you gotta eat at least something," she urges with another evil shake. 

"Be…hmm, down inna min…" Louis sighs, rubbing his cheek more into the pillow to demonstrate how he truly isn’t ready yet.

She gives up with a huff, reminding him once more that supper is going to get cold otherwise and because she is not only evil but now Satan in human form, leaves the bloody door wide open, causing the light from the hallway to shine on his face like a beam of pure torture. No matter how he covers his face with his arms, the clatter from downstairs pulls him until his body, that betrayer, gets restless as the smell of delicious food creeps into his nostrils and makes his stomach growl in a needy attempt to get him to move. 

Although his body is apparently starving, for it to function properly so that he can sit up and his legs are willing to work takes ten full minutes. Even then, each step he takes feels like little needles are pinned deeply into his skin and sticking into his muscles. 

When he finally arrives downstairs in the dining room — because that is a thing in this house, apparently — he sits on his chair with a prolonged groan. 

It only takes one look at the table setting for him to forget that his body is aching, mouth beginning to water. His mum outdid herself and Louis wonders when and how she had the time to buy all of this: there is a mountain of peas, a roasted chicken coated with her special seasoning, and creamy mashed potatoes. Each glass is filled with a grand serving of red wine too. He blinks: is it feasible he actually managed to die and this is how heaven greets him? But then he looks up and makes eye contact with Matt and guesses, nope, not heaven at all. It’s reality. 

“Wow, mum,” Louis blinks at the amount of food, inhaling deeply into his belly. “This looks amazing.”

“Thank you, Louis,” Jay smiles, wiggling a napkin in the air before smoothing it on her thighs. 

When everyone has served themselves and clinked their glasses in a toast, the meal begins. For the first bites it’s quiet and nice and homey, exactly what Louis had in mind when he agreed to visit for the summer. But then Matt chooses to open his mouth, and not even his mother’s buttery mashed potatoes can resolve the knot that builds in his chest. 

"So, Louis," he starts, as usual with a gruff tone and eyes that neither smile at Louis nor could be considered grumpy. "How is university? Do you like it?" 

"I do," Louis says after he swallows a poorly chewed forkful of food. "It’s nice." 

"What is it that you study again?" There you go, fucking dickhead — it’s not like he doesn’t know exactly what Louis is into. Louis knows his mother never stops talking about it since she is so proud of him for finally finding something that he likes and can see himself doing in the future. It took him a good while to figure it out, but his mother has been nothing but patient with him. 

Louis takes a shallow breath and puts his fork and knife down. "I study music. I’m still unsure about my major though."

Matt nods and takes a sip of wine. His brown eyes fix Louis on the spot and he has to hold himself back from squirming like a nervous little boy. "What can you do with that? Music? Hmpf, is that even worth getting a degree for?" 

"Matt!" Jay chimes in, frowning at her husband. "He’s doing amazing, there are a lot of job options later on, aren’t there, hun?" she asks, directed at Louis.

It still is, after a year, a relief to know that he has his mother’s support. Honestly, she would support him even if he told her he was quitting university and wanted to make music on the street. She’s awesome like that. 

Louis smiles at her, taking a huge sip of wine to calm the nerves that came alive and buzz in his bloodstream. "There are. I mean, it’d be grand to become a professional singer—" Matt scoffs at that, and Louis widens his smile, because _ fuck him _ , yeah? — "but, I mean, _ realistically _ , I want to _ maybe _ become a music teacher." 

"Music teacher," Matt repeats in a slow drawl, stabbing some chicken and bringing it to his mouth. "Isn’t that a _ woman’s _ job?" 

"I don’t know," Louis says, averting his gaze to his half-eaten plate, ironing his hand over the napkin. "I mean jobs are kind of genderless these days, aren’t they?" 

Again, Matt grunts, the corner of his mouth curling downward. "I guess…" 

After that they eat in silence. However, there is now a tension in the air as Jay’s eyes flicker nervously between Louis and Matt. Thankfully, the topic doesn’t come up another time during the meal. But it does eventually, as Louis knew it would, and it happens after their plates are clean and put in the dishwasher and they are sitting together for a last glass of wine, just when Louis has started to relax into the alcohol and is enjoying the company of his mother. 

"Louis, son," Matt starts, clapping Louis’ shoulder to gain his attention, which he already had when he called Louis _ 'son' _. "If you’d like, you can do an internship at my business. I bet you’d love it." 

Louis’ glance darts to his mum, who gives a subtle shrug, withholding her thoughts and leaving the conversation to them for now. He musters a wonderful neutral mask on his face as he brings his gaze directed at Matt anew. "Thank you, but I really don’t think becoming a car mechanic is something I’d consider…honestly." Louis takes a large sip of wine. It doesn’t help, only burns the walls of his throat. He isn’t much of a wine kind of guy. 

"That’s a shame. A young man like you should do something manly you know? These handyman jobs are dying; nobody wants to work anymore, just sit behind a screen. Maybe when I’m too old, you could take over. Wouldn’t that be something? Running a business, just like that." Matt smiles widely, clinking his glass against Louis’ own, and looking at him as if he had just announced that he is giving Louis the greatest opportunity of his life. For someone else it might be...

_ He only means good, he means no harm, he only means good, no harm, good, no harm — _

"I love studying music. I love music, so that’s what I want to do," Louis says, wanting this conversation to be done, to be buried underground so deep that it cannot be dug up again. “It’s what I’m passionate about.” 

"Alright, I’m just saying…" Matt says and there is another smile. _ No harm, only good _, Louis reminds himself. “As you know, I have no children, therefore no heir. It’d be beneficial for the both of us.” Matt glances at Jay as if looking for backup, but she has her eyes directed at her glass of wine, rotating it in slow circles. “We’ll just leave it in the open. You’re still young; you might change your mind.”

Louis returns his smile albeit a bit reluctantly, wondering if this big talk about taking over Matt’s business is just a way to win Louis’ affection or a sincere offer. Either way, Louis has never been drawn to getting his hands dirty with oil and fumbling below cars for a living, never even considered it. Maybe in another life he’d be that kind of person, but for this life his heart has settled on the idea of making music, whether as a singer on stage or in a smaller way, teaching it to little children or young adults that share the same interest as he does.

With music there are loads of possibilities and with a whiff of luck and a great portion of hard work, he could even sell his songs on the side. It’s a far-fetched dream, yet if others can accomplish it, why can’t he? Right? You have to take your chances and run with it. Anyway, his chest lifts in relief when Matt dives into a conversation with Jay about what they have to do tomorrow and doesn’t speak another word about Louis’ future career. 

Here is the thing: Louis likes Matt; he has nothing to hold against him because he makes his mother happy, but there are some…_ small…little…tiny _ issues about the man that Louis finds repulsing. For one, he tries too hard to adapt a fatherly role, which would be okay, except for the fact that Matt and Jay got married pretty fast, were together for only a short year before getting engaged, and of course a wedding was just around the corner. Since Louis had been elbow deep into university stuff and his personal life away from home in general, he had met Matt only a handful of times. They don’t know each other well at all. Louis hasn’t come out to Matt, for example, and considering the earlier conversation about jobs and what men and women are supposed to work as, Louis guesses it wouldn’t be the best idea to tell Matt, at least not now. 

And because they don’t know each other well, there is always something awkward in the air when they both are in the same room. Regardless of that, thankfully, Matt isn’t all too hooked upon Louis’ life. That is why he forgets what Louis is studying, even though he has told him a few times before. But Lottie isn’t better off, either, Louis guesses. She does a 'womanly' job as a hairdresser and stylist, yet Matt likes to forget that from time to time too, as well as how she likes to be called Lottie and not by her full name Charlotte.

At least, Louis guesses as he watches Matt and Jay joke and laugh amongst themselves, he is trying. He makes Jay smile and happier than he has ever seen her with another man. She deserves that, after being alone for such a long time and always with men who didn’t stick around. So in the end, it doesn’t matter how Louis feels about Matt because when summer transforms into autumn, he will be back in Bristol with Niall, Perrie, and Jade, and will leave this house and his mother and Matt behind. Then it will be as it had been before: short visits, going out to dinner, and spending at most a few hours in Matt’s presence. 

Once Louis has finished his glass of red, he bids them goodnight and heaves his tired body up the stairs. 

In his room, it’s quiet, which is a change as well. Part of the package of living with Niall is noises, _ loud _ noises _ all _ the time — either they both have people over for drinks, playing FIFA or cards, or they sing together and record songs or write themselves. If none of that is the case, then Niall is blasting his music in his room or watching telly on the loudest volume. After the first three months living with Niall, Louis got used to it and ended up loving the noises. It helped him to never feel truly alone. It was a comfort of sorts, knowing that someone is just a room away and that if Louis wanted he could join him and be entertained, and in the best company at that. Now, standing in the middle of a dark room which is still unfamiliar to him, he can’t hear more than an owl and some faint chatter coming from downstairs. It’s daunting and a few fine hairs raise up on the nape of his neck. 

He will get used to the silence, as he got used to the noises, and once he is home he will hate Niall’s loud music and once he’s fine with that again, it will be winter break and he will be in this silent house again. It is a cycle that he probably won’t get out of. 

Sighing, he shuffles across the room and fetches his cigs from the rustic desk on the way to the balcony for his last smoke of the day. 

The night air is refreshing on his skin as he leans against the railing. He wraps his fingers around the steel and stands on his tiptoes, putting his upper body weight onto it until the railing puts pressure on his lower belly. 

The garden is beautiful, even at night Louis can appreciate it. It’s more of a wild field than a tidy little backyard and a river weaves its way through the ground, appearing out of the forest and disappearing into the forest again like a serpentine trespasser. Because the garden is in a cage of trees that surround it, wherever Louis looks, all he sees is pure nature. The next house is up the road and the town is, too. Maybe if you walk at a quick pace, you could reach it in fifteen minutes or so, but if you go slow it will definitely take a good half-hour. When you are drunk, well… 

Louis smiles and lights his cigarette, enjoying the view and the nicotine. It prickles in his veins alongside the exhaustion and alcohol, making his head extra stodgy. He bends forward, planting his forearms on the railing and letting his head hang between his shoulders. He draws them up, causing his back to arch and the joints down his spine crack and pop. Everything aches with soreness, so he rolls his shoulders a few more times, until they stop clicking, and sighs in satisfaction. He takes a final drag before killing his cig at last.

Yawning, he goes indoors and leaves the door open. Swiftly, he pulls off his tee and kicks his way out of his joggers, dropping both on the ground carelessly. He is quick to go to the bathroom to do his nightly routine, and after that falls onto the mattress and groans, noticing only when his head hits the pillow that it’s still bare and without case. He makes a mental note to do the laundry and sheets tomorrow. 

The display of his phone lights with an incoming call and he rolls onto his stomach, propping his elbow up on the mattress as he stretches his torso to reach it on the nightstand. 

He picks up, already grinning. Before Niall gets a chance to say hello, he coos in the speaker, "Awh, look at that, you miss me already — cute." 

"You wish, you knob," Niall’s loud crackle comes through the line and by the rustling in the background Louis guesses that his best mate isn’t alone. "How’s the house?" 

"Huge," Louis says, rubbing his hand across the left half of his face, "beautiful, though," he adds, poking his cheek. He sits up against the headrest and stares at the ceiling. "You should come visit when you’re home from Ireland." 

"Sweet," Niall says, a grin audible in his voice, "I might just move in with yer family.”

Louis smiles. He definitely can imagine Niall packing his shit and knocking on the door, like _ yes hello, here I am, where’s my room? _It makes him giggle. "How’re your folks?" 

"Drunk," Niall promptly chirps. "We’re having a bloody excellent time, mate. Wish you could be here, though."

Louis presses his lips into a thin line and sighs through his nostrils. "Yeah, me too. I love your family, they’re great. Winter break with you guys last year was so much fun." 

"Oh bloody hell, yes it was! Best winter ever? Hello? My uncle still is in love with you!" Niall says, then pauses and yells some gibberish to someone, laughing right in Louis’ ear. "Anyway, guess who came with me?" 

"Who?" 

"I said _ guess _ for a _ reason _, Lou." 

"Perrie?" Louis tries, shutting his right eye. He can’t recall what her plans were for break. She had said something about Italy, but unfortunately, he was drunk at the time and Niall was hanging off his neck making gibberish noises, so it could have been anything for that matter. 

"Beep, _ wrong _. Next try." 

"Tom? Andy? Stan?” he shoots, grinning, “Becca? Karen? Henry? Josep?” Louis giggles, mainly listing random names at this point.

Niall’s laugh of _ ‘ha ha ha’ _ comes crackling through the line. He huffs when Niall _ ‘nope’s’ _ every single one of his guesses and fists his floppy fringe.

“Don’t tell me it’s Professor Jacky D, man. He’ll be drinking all your good shit!” Louis exclaims in faux-exaggeration, squeezing his own cheeks. 

Niall snorts another cackling laugh before sobering and snapping back to topic. ”Professor Jacky D, _ pfsh _, as if I’d let that happen. If someone is able to drink me under the table it’s be him and it hurts me a damn lot to admit that out loud,” he groans dramatically.

Louis sympathises. Their professor is excellent at chucking back liquor all day long, reeking of Jack Daniels more days than not.

“But seriously, I can’t believe you‘d think I’d bring Andy out of _ all _ people to spend summer with my family.” 

"Why? He’s pretty fun," Louis plops his hand on the blanket. “A bit _ slow _ maybe…”

Niall giggles. “You’re still sore that you lost that football match to us. Mate, that was like three months ago. Give Andy a rest.”

“Never,” Louis pouts at his closed bedroom door. “If he would have used his legs, we could have beat you guys. But _ no _ , he had to fucking _ daydream _,” he rolls his eyes.

It was the first and last time Louis voted Andy onto his team. Even Perrie would have made it to the football; it was right there — a few metres away, bouncing on the ground - but nope, not Andy, he simply stared ahead like a sloth and only got pulled out of his head once Niall and Louis were fighting over the ball, getting into a mess of tangled limbs which made Louis trip and allowed Niall to gain the upper hand and dance away, the ball shooting through the air and hitting the net in a whoosh.

“Anyway,” Louis grumbles, blinking himself back into the present and out of his shameful loss, guiding them back to the topic at hand. “So, who is joining you?” He can already hear Niall grinning. 

"Hannah!" Niall exclaims ebulliently. Louis holds the phone at an arms’ length, before he brings it back to his ear once his friend has calmed down."Hannah came with me, like, just like that! Bam! I asked, she said, yeah why not, and packed her things! Isn’t that awesome? How awesome is she, Lou? Huh?" he adds with a breathy laugh. 

"Oh wow, all right," Louis squints, adjusting his position on the mattress, eyebrows shooting to his hairline. "Did she now?" 

"Yes, and, wait —" There is more rustling, then a door closes and only Niall’s loud breathing comes through the line. "My family _loves_ her? And she adores my family? _How lucky am I,_ _mate_?" 

A slow smile forms his lips upward. "That’s great, Niall, I’m happy for you." His smile falters as there is a loud banging noise in the hallway, and he blinks at the shut door and purses his lips. His eyebrows twitch in bemusement but not a split-second later Niall is again rambling exhilaratingly in his ear. His attention is drawn back to their conversation, smile reappearing easily and the noise forgotten. 

"Thanks, mate. It’s gonna be the best summer ever," Niall says with an uncharacteristically quiet voice. "I think I love her, mate. Like actually _ love _ her!" 

"Aww, look at you Niall, finally settling down. Cute," Louis grins and wiggles his toes. Another noise from outside his bedroom makes him heave an indignant breath. How loudly are Jay and Matt going to bed? For all they know he could be fast asleep, and that’s a bit rude considering that he always made sure to be silent as a ghost whenever he came home late and his mother was in bed and already tucked in for the night, having an early morning shift at the hospital. 

"Seriously!" Niall’s vigorous voice pulls him back and he exhales, closing his eyes. Whatever. "I mean, I—" he stops and talks to someone again in the background. "Fuck," he says, "that was close, anyway, Hannah asked what I’m up to…so I better get going. I have to catch up to everyone - I’m not nearly drunk enough. I don’t wanna let ‘em down.” 

Louis chuckles, giving a half-hearted eye-roll. "Sure, go. Drink and have a blast, man. Say hi to your family and Hannah for me, will you?" 

"Sure, they all asked about you anyway." 

"Goodnight, Ni," Louis yawns, sinking lower below the blanket. 

"Night, Lou…"

The line goes dead and he plops his phone next to his hip on the mattress, playing with his bottom lip. It wasn’t a lie; Louis is happy for Niall, no doubt. Hannah is the perfect match for his best mate. Whilst he is loud and energetic, she is more quiet and possibly the only person in the entire universe that can get him to calm down a bit, a grounding anchor for his all over the place personality. She is gentle and sweet and just a nice girl throughout, warm with a sunny smile and deep brown eyes. Louis had loved her too and from the moment that they met, he just knew Niall had found someone for the long run.

Yet as much as he is ecstatic for Niall and Lottie, who is younger than him and already engaged to the love of her life, he feels left out. It sounds stupid and selfish, which is why he hasn’t mentioned it to anyone, but he hasn’t had a boyfriend for one year — a long, very long year. It seems like everyone else is in a blissful relationship and on cloud nine, as if they know some magic trick to attract the right person at the right time and he doesn’t. He has been third wheeling for months now and his distaste for one night stands and quick flings isn’t helping. 

Louis is fine with his life as it is, really. He has finally figured out what he wanted to study, became friends with Niall pretty early in his first semester and since they both hit it off right away said ‘fuck it’ to dorms and community showers and on a whim got an apartment not far from campus together. Louis’ life is great. Overall, he is delighted with it and that is why he wants a boyfriend, now that it’s all stable. No more moving, no more big changes — it would just be really lovely to have someone by his side who belongs to him, who he can wake up next to and be as sickly sweet as Niall is with Hannah or his sister is with her fiancé, or even his mother with Matt. Someone he can spoil with his affection that is bottled up for now, threatening to explode. Single life isn’t for him, and yet nobody in Bristol has caught the attention of his heart. There was some flirting, sure, and he exchanged numbers with a few guys at his favourite pub, but nothing as he imagined came out of it. Everyone has just been seeking short relief. 

Louis sighs. Well, this town is so small, he doesn’t think that he will find love here and even if so, he won’t stay. He will go back to Bristol and the life he built there when autumn comes and with that the beginning of his second year at university. 

But who knows, right? 

With that sweet little dream playing in his mind, he lays down and sinks into a restful sleep. 

*** 

Morning comes sooner than Louis would prefer and he awakens to birds singing outside, which is more nice than annoying. However what is not nice at all is that the cells of his body are hurting. From head to toe, every single one of his limbs, muscles, and atoms twinge with pain. His arms are so weak that he has to try twice to pick up his phone to check the time — it’s nine AM — and he has to sit up very slowly because the knots of his back scream at him to lay down. His legs, with each step, groan under his body weight as he waddles to the bathroom to wee and take care of his teeth. When he finally makes it and forces his arms to move to put on clothes from yesterday evening, he is already exhausted and ready to go to bed for another sweet round of sleep. However, the promising smell of coffee is carried to his room and his stomach growls with hunger. In the end that wins the upper hand and before he knows it, he is leaning sideways against the doorway in the kitchen, watching his mother read the newspaper before he makes himself known. 

"Good morning," he greets, padding his bare feet over the cool floor and filling his cup with steaming black coffee. That is the only way that he can tolerate coffee to be honest - no sugar, definitely no dash of milk or any too sugary syrup. He is more of a tea kind of guy, but if he wants to stay awake and fully alert, tea just won’t do. 

"Morning," Jay mumbles into her papers, turning a page. "Sleep well?" 

"Like the dead, what about you?” Louis replies, taking a seat at the round breakfast table, which is already set with plates and different sorts of jam and bread rolls. Saliva forms on his tongue just looking at it. He takes a sip of his coffee and smacks his lips, his brain slowly starting to work as caffeine brings his body back to life. "This looks lovely," he mentions, because if he was looking forward to one thing this summer it was home cooked meals and nice breakfasts. Neither he nor Niall are much for cooking and like to order in, and it's a big fat plus that their flat is located near the city centre with loads of different food places around. It’s easy and since that way they won’t burn down their flat, it’s safer for everyone involved. 

"Me, too," his mum echoes, still reading the news. 

Louis digs into breakfast and butters his bread roll, loading it with homemade strawberry jam. Taking the first bite is what heaven is made of and he can’t repress a groan. It’s so much better than cereal. 

"You know, you were really loud going to bed yesterday," Louis says between bites. "I mean, it's fine because I was still up, but…I mean, c’mon," he chuckles around a mouthful, his cheeks puffed. "Did you carry boxes upstairs or what? Or did you fall? Have a wrestling match?" 

Jay puts down the paper and sits opposite of him, crossing her legs. "No we didn’t," she blinks, "we were knackered yesterday so we just went to bed. I don’t think we were that loud.” 

Louis’ eyebrows twitch in puzzlement. "So we have a house ghost or something?" he asks, smiling. 

"Sure, that or mice - loud mice that were having a party," his mum plays along.

“Bloody hell, they should have invited me at least,” Louis faux-grumbles. 

They both laugh, then sober and his mother smiles devilishly at him. Knowing that look on her face too well, a groan already builds in his chest, ready to be released any second. 

"You have two options for today." 

_ Here we go _, he groans at last and makes a show of rolling his eyes exaggeratedly as his shoulders slump. 

"I just woke up, gimme a minute before you bomb me with a to-do list, please," he pouts at his bread roll which he holds in front of his face before taking another fairly large bite. "Since I did most of the work yesterday, I thought I’d allow myself a break, yes?" he bats his lashes, giving his best cute puppy eyes, but his mother is already shaking her head mid-sentence. 

"Not a chance, Louis. When you’re done you can do whatever, but please help us out a bit. Also, you don’t have to do it right away." 

"That’s the only reason I’m here, isn’t it?" Again, his mind wanders to Lottie having fun and Niall having a nice relaxing time in Ireland. _ Regret…so much regret. _

"It’s lovely to have you around," Jay smiles, phlegmatic, and shrugs, "but it’d be even lovelier if you could lend a hand." 

"Whatever. What is it?" Louis licks some jam off his thumb, and lifts his brows at his mother expectantly. 

"You can either do the grocery shopping or do laundry and _ perhaps _ clean the basement." 

Louis barely represses a moan. "I’ll do the grocery shopping, if I must," he answers, a deep breath passing his parted lips anyway. 

"Of course," Jay rolls her eyes and straightens her spine. "Matt’s checking out a location for his business and I’ll be sorting the books and DVDs in the living room. I guess we’ll save the basement for last." 

"Good choice," Louis nods.

Basements are creepy, moist and dark. Nobody likes spending more than ten minutes in a place like that, and Louis guesses all that manly talk from Matt is just that - _airy_ _talk_. It seems like he too wants to dodge the hard shit at home, and that is why it took him a very long, long, long time to fumble with the telly cables. Huh. 

"Thank you. I’ll give you a list. And maybe stop at the petrol station to fill up my car." 

"Will do." 

Satisfied, Jay nods and stands up, walking out of the kitchen. Louis waits until she is out of sight, then assumes it’s safe enough to bang his head against the table. Grocery shopping sounds like hell when the weather is amazing and warm and the only things he wants to do are to check out the garden and dip his feet in the river and maybe unpack Niall’s guitar and play for a while. 

But of course, after he has smoked two cigarettes and drank another cup of coffee, he lets his mother’s keys jangle between his fingers as he walks out of the door, grocery list crumpled in his other hand and sunglasses shielding his eyes from the luminous rays of sunshine. 

The drive is quick, but finding the grocery store takes him twice as long and when he finally pulls into the parking lot, his mum’s CD — _ Leonard Cohn _— has already stopped playing. 

He tries to be fast, but because the store is unfamiliar he can’t find the baked beans, the whole-wheat bread Jay adores, and they are out of spinach. What kind of store is out of spinach? Ugh. Once he has made it, finding his way through the maze of aisles and sale products and only getting distracted by magazines for a few minutes, he hops into the car and fills it up, buying some cigarettes too. He pays with his mother’s credit card and is quick to drive home, already having spent too much time in that big grocery store for his liking.

The house is located off the main road, so one must drive through a field path to get there, nothing but green stuff, grass, and trees on both sides. The road passes through a thick forest and after another left and right turn, Louis is home. He drives through the open iron gate, which is painted in black, and parks on the large courtyard that is covered with gravel. Here and there it is weed-choked, but he swears if his mother orders him to do gardening, he doesn’t care anymore, he will pack his shit and take the next flight out to Ireland. 

His eyes linger on the two small ramshackle brick barns and for a moment a compelling spell engulfs his mind as curiosity raises. He wonders what they were used for and what his parents’ new plans for them hold. He could imagine Matt turning them into an at-home workshop or maybe they will be renovated into a double garage since that’s the only thing lacking in this house. 

He unlocks the door and shuts it with a kick of his foot, heaving his brown grocery bag into the kitchen where he stores everything where it belongs. Well, he at least tries to, but he has to open and reopen the cabinets a few times until everything is sorted. 

Fixing himself a glass of water, he leans his bum against the kitchen island and glances over the shiny, clean workspace. It’s a country kitchen, rustic yet with modern touches — just like his mother had envisioned it. She had talked his ear off about it on the phone: "_ it’ll be so lovely, _ " she had said, with a breathy kind of voice, _ "just like I always wanted it." _Maybe it’s a womanly thing to spend free time dreaming about kitchens and pillow cases, but Louis has never ever wasted a thought about how he wants his kitchen to be. Perhaps it’s not even a womanly thing, but more of a mother thing, or it has something to do with age and the level of cooking skills. 

He would be fine with a small two stove oven and a mini fridge, which would definitely be loaded with beer. For fucks sake, Niall and Louis have only a laundry basket as makeshift coffee table because neither of them had the money for furniture. Louis had taken his old bed with him when he moved into this flat and Niall still sleeps on a mattress on the floor. The money that they earn from performances and small day-to-day jobs on the side, like piano tutoring, is spent on cigarettes, drinks, and clothes - maybe a new guitar or microphone as equipment for their YouTube channel, which is doing rather well, thank you very much. When the time comes, he guesses they will have to think of getting new things for their flat, but for now it works just fine because they are students and spend the majority of their time on campus, in bars, or at friends’ places. When they have people over, nobody cares what their flat looks like but their parents, who mostly never know where to sit or stand because of the chaos of clothes, music sheets, and university books. 

That reminds him — putting his glass in the sink, he sighs, blinking his way out of his thoughts and listening for noises. There is rustling coming from the living room, so he makes his way through the entrance hall over there and finds his mother on the ground, books and DVD’s all spread out around her, cluttering the floorboards. She is so focused that she doesn’t even notice him standing in the doorway, nor does she seem to hear him clearing his throat for attention. Pursing his lips, he uncrosses his arms and tiptoes out of the living room, seeing it as his chance to escape before she realises that she isn’t alone anymore and loads another task onto his back. 

He fixes himself a glass of orange juice, which he bought by accident — he was meant to get pineapple juice but the colours looked alike on the package he didn’t bother reading the labels. In the foyer, he makes a point of ignoring the piled up boxes next to the staircase and walks upstairs, being mindful of the orange juice swaying from side to side with each step. He has a habit of spilling his drinks, so he doesn’t let it out of his sight until he reaches the top and sighs in relief that he made it. 

His plan for the rest of the day is simple: getting Niall’s guitar out of its case and going down to the river to play around a bit. He has already downloaded some sheet music on his phone of songs that they want to perform with more than a single guitar. It’s a win-win situation — he will get a nice tan and get a bit further with his guitar skills. So far Niall has always been the one who plays while Louis sang, and it works just fine but Louis would like to try something more for the coming season. He can play the piano, but it would be too much of a burden to carry a keyboard to the pub and home or to a wedding - it’s just not worth it for him or Niall. They are simple guys: the less to carry, the better and because of that the guitar is the best instrument to use, period. Though Louis has to say, he loves playing piano. He plays it a lot on campus; every day when he’s done with classes he has the permission of his music professor to use it. His fingers miss the keys already and it has only been three days. 

Louis stops at his shut bedroom door — which he is sure he left open after getting his trainers to go grocery shopping. Pursing his lips, he pushes it open. 

“Oh Jesus!” he exclaims, immediately dropping his glass with a thundering clack, spilling juice everywhere as his heart jumps out of its cage in one big swoop. He clutches a hand over his chest as he stares into his room, flabbergasted. 

There, in lambent daylight on Louis’ bed, a guy is sitting, reading one of Louis’ books. He merely looks up with raised eyebrows, like he is surprised to be interrupted at a thrilling part of the story. 

The first thing Louis notices, and hates himself a bit for it, is that the guy is bloody _ gorgeous. _ He has brown curls framing his sharp facial features, two piercing green eyes that contrast against his pale skin, and dark, strong eyebrows. As Louis’ heart rate lowers and shock wears off, he gathers himself, because beautiful face or not –

The guy snaps Louis’ book shut and sits up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed, but not standing up. Under his intense gaze, Louis shifts his weight. 

"What the fuck?" is what comes intelligently out of Louis’ mouth. His voice sounds pressed and tight even to his own ears, but now that he has recovered from shock to come upon a high fashion magazine model on his bed, he’d like some answers, because, honesetly, _ what the bloody fuck? _ "Who the fuck are you?" 

The bloke clears his throat. Louis’ eyebrows are playing hide and seek behind his fringe as his eyes follow the guy coming to a stand in the middle of the room. He can’t be much older than Louis, likely younger even. 

"You spilled your juice," he states in a drawled, slow voice, pointing at the wet spot at Louis’ shoes. 

“What?” Louis deadpans, sluggishly bringing his gaze downward to the mess he made, before his eyes dart to the stranger again. 

_ You spilled your juice _— goddamn, what the bloody hell? That’s all he’s got to say? 

Louis is so lost, he finds himself speechless. It takes a long moment of another of their staring-contests to recover his voice. "How did you get in?” 

The brown haired guy gives a modest single shoulder shrug. "You guys left the front door unlocked. A bit careless, don’t you think?" The corners of his mouth turn downward as if to add, _ ‘oops’ _ without saying it aloud. 

"Uhm…" Louis blinks his lashes rapidly as if it will help clear his mind, "yeah, I’d say so, considering you’re in my room." 

"Sorry,” stranger-with-still-no-name is looking in fact anything _ but _ apologetic, “I couldn’t help myself. I heard the house was sold and since I was nearby, I came to say _ ‘hi’ _." he rasps, a smile forming on his pink lips and with it, two dimples appear in his cheeks. He ruffles his chestnut curls, sweeping them backwards and out of his face, appearing certainly as if breaking-and-entering is something people just do around here and nothing out of the ordinary, no biggie, nope. 

Louis narrows his eyes, still kind of not buying it. "All right? Did my mum send you up or something?" He is going to kill her, honestly, he was so proud of himself for not spilling a drop and now look at his shoes and the floor and who has to clean it up? This guy? No, Louis doesn’t think so, his mum wouldn’t either. It’s all on Louis and he’d have appreciated a heads up, just a simple,_ ‘hey Lou, there is a cute stranger waiting for you in your room, yeah I don’t think he’s a serial killer’ _would have been enough. 

"Uh, oh, _ yeah _ , actually," another smile is sent Louis’ way and he relaxes a bit, sighing, because of course his mother didn’t give him a hint - she was so smitten sorting her beloved books and DVD’s, she would have forgotten anything, lost in her own little world of stories and drama. "Sorry about that, I called out, said hi and she told me you’d be here soon, _ so… _ I saw you guys move in yesterday, and I really like this house. I used to hang around here all the time, sometimes I still do…" he stops his rambling and his evergreen eyes drag beyond Louis’ shoulder. For a second an emotion flickers across his face that’s too fast for Louis to catch and analyse. " _ Anyway _ – I’m Harry."

Louis is pushed over the edge as Harry flashes him another enchanting grin that brings out his dimples. He guesses that bizarre first meeting or not, Harry doesn’t seem too dangerous at this current moment in time. However, Louis still hesitates as Harry goes for a handshake. 

When their hands touch, the first thing Louis notices is the softness of the other boy’s hand, as if he uses lotion every fucking time he washes his hands. The second thing is that Harry’s hand is not only soft, but too cold for summer. The breeze of coldness lingers on Louis’ palm even after he drops his hand by his flank, curling his fingers. 

"I’m Louis," he reciprocates the smile, now easier as the situation has cleared itself - well, sort of. "I guess, nice to meet you?" He wrinkles his nose, uncertain if that’s the right thing to say, but not wanting to be rude either. It’s tricky, because he has every right to be mad and kick Harry out, but can’t bring himself to do just so. Something about the boy is beguiling to him, though Louis can’t pin-point exactly what.

"You, too," Harry nods, burying his hands in his black trouser’s pockets. "I really like what you guys have done to this house. It was pretty run-down before. Was a real shame." 

"Thank you, make sure to tell my mum that." 

"Already have," Harry glances around Louis’ room before bringing his attention back to him. "Did you know it has stood empty for over ten years? I _ can’t _ tell you the _ exact _ year, but it has been a long, long time." 

"Really?" Louis lifts his brows. He didn’t know that. His mother only talked about what they wanted to renew and overall was so cheerful, talking a mile a minute, that he never considered that it could be anything but as it is currently. In a way it looks so lived in that he figured the former owners moved out just before his parents moved in. That’s usually how it goes, isn’t it? Eh, what does he know? 

"Yep," Harry swings his arms freely, "they had trouble selling." 

Louis blinks at that information. "Why’s that?" 

Harry looks at him, his eyes narrowing as an amused, coy smile creeps onto his lips. "They say it’s haunted. Loads of rumours are going around town," he chuckles and rubs below his nose, giving a single shoulder shrug.

Louis laughs breathily. "I mean…" he draws the word out, his gaze bouncing around the room, "I kinda get it," he settles on saying, recalling last night when it was quiet, his room shadowed and set in silvery moon light, giving it a haunted kind of appearance. 

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, perplexity colouring his pale face. "Do you?" 

"It’s an old fucking house," Louis snorts, wrinkling his nose at the room as a whole, "obviously people are gonna talk. Look at this place, it’s covered in ivy and is out in the middle of _ absolutely _ nowhere.”

"I guess…" Harry says, casting his eyes downwards and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

"If I see a ghost, I’m definitely outta here," Louis jokes into the expanded silence. 

Harry presses his lips to a tight smile and turns his head slightly sideways, glancing at Louis through thick lashes. "So, you’re scared of ghosts?" 

Louis scoffs. "No, not really, since you know, ghosts aren’t real?" He lifts his brows and shakes his head a bit to say _ 'duh' _ with his entire body. 

"Sure," Harry drawls the word out past its length, "ghosts aren’t real. Beg to differ, but whatever helps you sleep at night, mate.” 

"Are you implying that you’ve seen one? Because…" Louis quirks an eyebrow, not believing that he is having a discussion about fucking ghosts with a complete, albeit pretty, stranger in his bedroom. What. "If not, unfortunately _ I _ beg to differ too." 

“What if ghosts are invisible?” Harry gives a nonchalant shrug. “Then there is no way to see them. You just gotta believe, right? But, most people from this town have talked for ages about it. This house has a really long history…" he ends with a meaningful sigh and looks around again, as if a ghost would pop out any given moment just to prove Harry’s point. 

"Every house has a history," Louis shrugs, crossing his arms, defiant. "Plenty of people die in hospitals and my mum’s a nurse, but she has never met a ghost at work, so there’s that. Saying ghosts are invisible is too easy now, isn’t it? You could state a fact about anything and nobody could disapprove since you can’t measure or study it.”

"We can argue about this all day long," Harry smirks sharply at him, "but I think in time you’ll change your mind. Dunno, really I just love spooky things." 

Louis huffs a chuckle. 

"Just saying," Harry raises his palms as if to surrender and leave the decision to Louis to make up his own mind. 

"All right, next you’ll tell me that Satan’s our neighbour," Louis lifts a humorous eyebrow. 

As Louis noticed the boy doing before, his eyes slip above Louis’ shoulder. He represses the urge to check at what Harry is looking at. His nape tingles.

"Dunno about that, to be honest," Harry says in that moment, green eyes meeting blue. 

"All right, we can leave that for another day," Louis throws in easily without giving it a second thought. 

"Does that mean you wanna hang out sometime?" Harry’s green eyes widen. 

Louis’ glance flickers to the side, then afterwards to Harry, and he smiles. "Why not? You seem alright enough." When Harry still just stares at him like Louis has revealed that he himself is actually a ghost, he is quick to continue, backtracking a little, tiny bit, "I mean, only if you’d like to. No pressure or anything. As you know, I just moved in and haven’t gotten to know loads of people so far. You’re the first if you exclude the lady working at the petrol station.”

"No, no, I’d like that," Harry rushes to answer, nodding a few times as if to ensure him he genuinely means it. "I’d really like that." 

Relief floods Louis’ chest. He doesn’t want to seem like a complete idiot, trying to become friends with a strange guy who he just found chilling in his room, but he actually can’t find it within himself to withdraw the offer since Harry has lit up like a bloody Christmas tree. It’s just odd, is the thing. If Harry would have rung the doorbell like a normal person, at least Louis could have had the chance to come up with an excuse for why he can’t currently hang out and shut the door. Yet he knows even if that were the case, he wouldn’t have done that but invited Harry inside, glad to have found someone so easily his age without even leaving the house in the first place - like a delivered friend that he didn’t order but doesn’t want to return just yet, wherever he came from. 

"Okay," Louis replies. 

"Cool." 

They smile at each other for a second. The boy’s smile is warm. 

Harry sighs, brushing through his curls. "I’ll head…home, I guess. Don’t wanna claim your time completely. I’m sure you had things planned.” 

Louis has nothing planned but sunbathing, being languorous, and toying with Niall’s guitar. But instead of telling Harry that and sounding like a loser without a life and proper things to get done, he settles on a simple: “Alright.”

"Really looking forward to hanging out with you," Harry says again, taking a large step over the spilled orange juice on his way out. 

Then he is gone, leaving Louis behind to deal with his orange bath and confusion.

Now that Harry’s presence is out of the room, the situation seems funny to Louis. Who the hell just walks into a stranger’s house? But again, his mother told him to wait for Louis — why would she though? She doesn’t know Harry, does she? Maybe they had met before, when Matt and Jay were having a look at the house or spending their days renovating it. Huh. He makes a mental note to ask his mother about it and, settled with that, releases a big breath. Putting his hands on his hips, he glances at his mess. His eyebrow twitches with annoyance that his shoes, which were white before, are now orange too. 

_ Fuck this. _

*** 

It doesn’t take long for Louis to get pulled into work once more, even though his mum had promised him that the rest of the day belonged to him. Obviously Louis should have known better than to believe her. Matt is back after checking out his potential business location, and together they sort through the content of the remaining moving boxes. Louis hadn’t known where to place most of them and had hoped that by the time he made it downstairs, Matt would have taken it upon himself.

Of course that wasn't the case and Louis is now once more a slave to his parents, carrying boxes not only from point A to B on the ground level, but also having to haul them up the stairs to his mother’s bedroom, where she will take over the job of unpacking them — you know, the fun part.

After the third box is in their room, there is already a damp layer of sweat like a second skin wrapped around his bones as he pants his way down the stairs. He grips the end of the railing to spin himself around and face Matt, who gives him the next box with a muttered, _ 'bathroom' _ and up again Louis goes, with each step cursing under his breath, hating every single second of it. 

They are done with it in the late afternoon and the first thing Louis does is take a prolonged, cold shower, spending as much time as possible, toweling himself dry, and getting dressed. He even lays on the bed in between putting on clean pants, a shirt, and shorts, just so his mum won’t be able to tell him what to do next yet. 

When he finally thinks the air is clear and there can’t be any chance for another thing to be carried out - since the sun is setting low in the sky and illuminating the room in a red-orange glow - he heaves himself out of bed and ambles into the living room, which he discovers is empty. Pursing his lips, he spins and goes into the kitchen — empty. Breathing in deeply, he checks the office — what they are going to use it for, he has no idea — empty, too. He is drawn to the terrace by muffled voices and, sure enough, encounters Jay and Matt on the outside couch, his mother sipping her usual glass of red wine and Matt nursing a beer. They fall silent when they spot him. 

"Get yourself a drink, son. Join us," Matt says, tilting his bottle in his direction. And well, Louis doesn’t have to be told twice. 

Louis nods and gets himself a beer, sitting down on a lounge chair opposite the married couple. After he has taken the first sip, he gets his cigarette alight and inhales smoke to his expanding belly. 

"You did excellent work," Matt nods, pleased. 

Yeah Louis fucking did, and what did Matt do? Nothing, just commanding Louis around and sitting on his bum on the ground. What a man his stepfather is, and yet he isn’t shy to shit on Louis’ choice of studying music because it’s not “manly” enough. Scratching his jaw and biting his tongue, he mumbles a quiet, slurred thanks around his cigarette because it’s more important to make his mother happy than say what’s on his mind. He is trying to be as supportive as she has been in his life.

"Did you like the location?" Louis asks, because there isn’t anything else to discuss and in a way he is kind of scared of being the centre of attention. He has no energy to defend his life choices for another round nor does he have any more to say, and he can’t do awkward silence.

"Oh, yes it was quite good. I think I’ll rent it. Jay’s gonna have a look at it tomorrow." 

Louis nods listlessly a few slow times, bringing his cigarette to his lips for another sweet drag. 

"If you want, you can tag along. Six eyes see more than four," Matt offers and takes a sip of his beer. 

Jay smiles at that idea already and pins Louis with two bright beams. 

"Hm," Louis muses, sucking on his fag hastily as an excuse not to say no to the offer right away. To be honest, looking at an empty workshop sounds like the least fun thing to do and again — _ Lottie is in Spain. Niall is in Ireland. Both of them doing fun stuff. “ _I’d rather stay home, actually. I have some things to take care of." Like playing the goddamn guitar. He still hasn’t come around to doing that, Jesus. 

"Oh, alright," Matt says and winds his buff arm around Jay’s shoulder, tugging her closer. "Your choice." 

They make chit chat until Jay announces she is going to start cooking and leaves Matt and Louis alone. In an instant the air turns to an awkward fog as they both try to avoid eye contact. Now that their bottles are empty, there isn’t much more to do than talk and that would be easier if Louis knew what the hell to talk about with Matt. 

"_ So _…Liverpool against Norwich City was awesome, wasn’t it? Beat them four to one," Louis guesses sports is the best topic at hand and thankfully it works like a charm. They bridge the time until dinner discussing the game with only a few unpleasant pauses that happen in between until one of them brings up another match. At least they have one mutual interest, he reckons. 

Later, when he is laying in bed - his pillow now in a case as well as his blanket - the conversation with Harry comes back to him and he thinks of their plans to hang out. Louis realises he doesn’t have Harry’s number or any other way to get in contact with him. 

Perhaps, Louis thinks, closing his eyes, he will find Harry reading one of his books in his bedroom another day. He falls into a dreamless sleep shortly after, a small smile curled on his lips. 

* * * 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boredom nearly is the end of Louis, thankfully his mum offers the perfect solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday guys! 
> 
> thanks so much for reading and to everyone who left kudos, it means a lot to me and makes me really happy! I hope you're enjoying it so far. Just a side note, I'm going to upload one chapter weekly, at least I'll try to do so. 
> 
> Enjoy! x :)

* * * 

Although Louis dozes off moderately swiftly, it doesn’t last. Something keeps pulling him out of his slumber throughout the night. When he opens his eyelids once again, he checks the time on his phone. The screen is too bright for his bleary eyes, and triggers a sustained groan immediately. According to the clock, it’s four in the fucking morning.  _ Lord, no _ . 

He has no clue what exactly woke him up, but his body - no matter how tired his mind is - is restless. An electric feeling in his bloodstream, one that comes close to anxiety, doesn’t want him to find peace this time around. Louis ignores it. 

He tosses to the side and hides his nose in the crook of his elbow, nuzzling his skin. His lids droop and a wave of exhaustion comes crashing over his brain, darkness tugging at it, drawing him under. 

_ Finally _ , he sighs, pressing his cheek more into the pillow. 

_ Bang _ .

He jolts upright with a hammering heart, his hands gripping the sheets as he blinks sleep out of his vision and stares at the closed bedroom door. What, in God’s name, was  _ that? _

Could it have been one of those half-dreams where you think you are tripping down the stairs and then startle awake? That guess is debunked as at that moment, another loud sound chimes clearly from the hallway. Louis waits apprehensively, holding his breath. 

Should he go check or would it be too awkward to run into Matt half-naked just to ensure that everything is alright?

Knowing him, there is no chance in hell that he will fall asleep easily now, and since rest is much more important than enduring the sheer embarrassment of encountering his stepfather in the middle of the night, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring his jelly-like knees as he makes his way over to the door and peeks outside. 

The shadowed hallway is set in obscurity, faint moonlight shining through the picturesque window at the end of the corridor causing the floor on the second level to seem especially eerie. Nonetheless, Louis can’t detect the source of the previous sounds because the corridor is  _ empty _ . Louis’ eyebrows knit, and after emitting a grand exhale, he purses his lips, checking again up and down. No noise is heard. 

Shrugging to himself, he closes the door and drags his feet back to bed. Honestly, there is a high likelihood that it was his mother or Matt going downstairs for water and stumbling or it was a rusty heating pipe acting up like it occasionally does in his flat.

But the minute Louis’ head hits the pillow and his lids lower, another of those cracking bangarangs erupts from the outside of his bedroom. He rolls his gaze to the ceiling in a deadpan manner. 

Why, why, _just_ _why? _

He lives with  _ Niall _ . Louis should be used to - no, no he  _ is _ bloody used to - peculiar noises at night. He doesn’t know how whatever this was, was able to wake him up tonight. He had slept like a baby in Bristol once while Niall had a few friends in his room, staying up past three for a study party which consisted of no studying at all, but rather beer, blasting music, and roaring laughter. He slept through the noises just fine and only noticed on his way to the bathroom when he stumbled upon some bloke he had never seen before, laying on the dirty tiled floor and drooling in front of the toilet, passed out cold and reeking of vomit and liquor. 

Hence — he is no light sleeper. 

Which  _ means… _

Well... he hasn’t figured that out, but there is yet again a new loud clattering and he gives up with a prolonged whine, sitting upright and going outside to check. This time he doesn’t just have a quick look, but walks down the hallway until he reaches the stairs and looks down to the foyer: it’s dark; no lights, no noises. And because he is a creep apparently, he presses his ear onto his mother’s bedroom door and strains his hearing for a sign of whether both are in bed or wandering the house, hitting pots with wooden spoons or whatever adults over fifty do when they get bored at night. There is snoring — loud,  _ obnoxious  _ snoring. So, they both must be in bed, Louis concludes. However, the fact that his mother isn’t the accountable poltergeist should have been a given since there is no light on and Jay has the habit of lighting every goddamn room she passes when she wakes up at night to get a glass of water from the kitchen or to use the loo. 

_ Which means… _

Still no bloody idea. He rules out it being the pipes as well, since they might be annoyingly loud but not  _ that _ loud. All Louis knows is that he is fucking tired and growing increasingly irritated as time ticks on. 

Currently it’s quiet and Louis, going to his room on light feet, hopes it will stay that way from now on. 

He pulls the blanket over his head and pinches his lids shut. Just as he drifts off, there is another noise, but whatever it is can go fuck itself. Louis wants to sleep.  _ Sleep _ .  _ Sleep _ .  _ Sleep _ . Because if he doesn’t get enough hours in, he will be cranky in the morning and naturally nobody wants that, innit? Therefore, he keeps his eyes closed as something rumbles and clatters. If it’s a serial killer, he can fucking wait; if anyone gets to kill Louis, it’s his mother — with one of her cherished to-do-lists. 

Louis falls asleep half an hour later and wakes up to the caustic morning sun, lucent and burning in his face, licking his skin, blinding his vision, and making him overall bloody miserable. 

What a lovely way to wake up. 

He mewls into his pillow, his body refusing to work because it’s still numb with exhaustion from the troubled night. It hadn’t wanted to rest and now it doesn’t want to wake up. Like  _ really _ , it’s just never right for Louis’ body, is it? However, whilst his body is on strike, his mind reels with thoughts and the need for a cigarette spreads from his jaw onto his tongue and swirls in his gathering saliva. Slowly, he comes to terms with the fact that it’s utterly hopeless for him to be able to sink into a much-needed, well-deserved, sleep. 

Heaving his body into a sitting position, he twists his arms upward with a long yawn that stretches his mouth so much, his dry lips strain. The sun isn’t as bad anymore, now a nice touch on his back as he rolls his shoulders and exhales with his nose. He gets his phone and checks firstly the time — it’s ten AM — and after that, reads messages that Niall sent him throughout the early morning. Guessing he will have time to reply later, he returns his phone to his nightstand and slips his feet onto the ground, again stretching his arms as he gets up and drags his limbs to the bathroom to have a piss and clean his hands, face, and teeth. As he catches his reflection in the mirror, he averts his gaze to the washbasin — indeed, he looks that bad. There are dark purple rings below his eyes, the whites of his eyeballs are reddened by fine veins, his hair is a mess, and  _ gosh _ , let's not talk about how beat up and marcid he seems after his never ending night of disturbances. 

Going back into his bedroom, he slips into the first clothes he gets his hands on and saunters downstairs for the largest mug of coffee they have. Since nobody seems to be home, he slouches into the garden, cigarette already trapped between his lips and a mug of steaming coffee burning his palms. 

Outside, the air is crisp and honestly a right wake up call. He sighs as he sits on the outdoor sofa, which is ace honestly - if he loves one thing the most about this spacious mansion slash farmhouse, it is this fucking couch. He wishes he and Niall had enough space to squeeze one in on their tiny rectangular balcony. 

He stretches out his legs, crossing them at his ankles on the low coffee table in front of him, and lights his fag, inhaling desperately. He takes turns taking sips on his morning elixir and sucking lazily on his cigarette. Both fill him up and bring him back to life whilst the sun gleams on his nape. At least the morning makes up for a shitty nighttime, he guesses, shifting on the cushion and letting his head roll on the armrest, closing his eyes and sighing languorously. 

His first cigarette dies too quickly and gets buried in the ashtray. Directly after that he lights a fresh one, taking the last gulp of his black coffee and massaging his temples in tiny circles.

The more he lives into the day, the possibility of running into his mother and being forced to work on the house again becomes a real threat. His ears perk up when there are two muffled car doors closing, announcing Jay and Matt are back from having a look at the location for his stepdad’s car workshop. 

Louis makes the hardest decision he has in a while: he forces his reluctant body into sport clothes - that he brought with him for unknown reasons — and puts his headphones in. 

Yes, Louis is going for a run, and yes, there is no going back — that is what he tells himself since one side of his brain had started arguing with him the moment he tied his trainers all while the other half of his brain is cheering him on from the sidelines. This confuses his body to no end, as if it is asking,  _ ‘are we going or are we gonna eat crisps and do nothing, man? Fucking make a decision.’ _

Louis tiptoes past the foyer, hearing his parents' voices in the kitchen, and steps outside. The weather is clement, not sticky, and a wonderful breeze caresses his skin — perfect for a run, that is.The grumpy part of his mind tells him that there is  _ never _ a good enough time for a work-out and he should lay back in bed for another slumber, whilst the other half hisses  _ 'obviously there is never a good time for a run, but you do it anyway'. _ However, no matter how much Louis argues with himself, he still ends up stretching his arms from side to side and rowing them in the air. Afterwards, he lifts legs to his bum until his calves and shins start to sting. Once he has rolled his shoulders and his head, he is ready to sweat until moribund. He  _ can’t _ wait. 

He goes slow, turning the volume of his music all the way up so he can’t hear anything but the screaming voices of the artist — it’s  _ Linkin Park, _ obviously. 

Since he hasn’t had a work out in a long time, he walks a few easy steps before falling into a light jog over the driveway, the gravel making the soles of his shoes slip. He takes a left turn once he is outside the gate and jogs onto a forest path, having no idea where it might lead. The uncertainty makes the whole thing in a way adventurous and interesting enough to push through the burning of his thighs. 

The shadows of the high oak trees shield him from the sun and here and there is a lovely gust of wind, ruffling his hair as his arms swing angled by his sides in rhythm with his feet hitting the dusty, sandy road.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel like staying home and eating tons of junk food would have been the preferable option. Shaking out his legs, he comes to a stop. Every single cigarette he has ever smoked seems to sit in his throat as he coughs and wheezes. Bending forward and putting his palms on his knees, he spits on the ground with a wrinkled nose. This isn’t a great start to his athletic career. 

The worst thing about being spontaneous is that you tend to forget things — which he did, his throat burning and his mouth sandpaper-dry because he’s an idiot who forgot to bring a water bottle and now is suffering the consequences. If he gets lost in this forest, he will die of thirst; that’s a given. 

He takes up jogging again, much more sluggish than when he started. He ignores the urge to drink and concentrates on the music that booms into his brain and makes his ears ring. He curves into another left, arriving at a small crossroad and stops as he beholds a house in the distance. He checks over his shoulder as if someone would just pop up from beneath the ground, but no zombie arises. 

Louis is alone. 

It doesn’t really look like much of a neighbourhood, and he hadn’t known there was another house like theirs in the woods, lonely and surrounded by nothing more than nature. However, this house is pretty far from the street - his playlist is already repeating itself from the top, so he has been out for at least half an hour. So Louis’ family aren’t the only crazy people living by themselves in the middle of nowhere — comforting, that. 

Louis falls into a walk and comes to a halt directly in front of the house. There isn’t a driveway or anything, only a shabby mailbox made of wood with the initials ZM and a black fence that has seen better days — the paint is fading already and honestly the house itself resembles a location straight from a creepy horror movie. It is more of a cabin-style, but bigger, at least two levels up with a high pointed black-brick roof. It doesn’t look very inviting. 

Well, it could be abandoned? 

Nope, Louis backtracks, looking upward and noticing fumes coming from the chimney. All in all, it definitely seems enthralling. For a ridiculous second Louis considers checking it out, but then he recalls how shaken up he was about Harry’s breaking-and-entering and isn’t really the mood to be a bloody hypocrite today. 

A shadow behind a window hushes past and Louis feels like he is being watched. He shakes himself out of his goggling at a stranger’s home and picks up his run, unable to stop himself from glimpsing over his shoulder for a last look at the unique house. He thinks he sees a faint movement again and propels himself a tad faster, pushing his heels against the ground and not stopping again until he is a sweaty mess. Thankfully he was lucky enough to take the correct road right away and just ran a large circle around his family’s grounds, coming out at the other side where he first began. 

He made it, wow — where is his award? Thank you, thank you, everyone. 

All the agony, sweat and ache, dry mouth or not — it wasn’t as injurious as he thought it would be and not only because it’s done and over now. Maybe he will even keep this routine up from here on. At least it allowed him to forget about his troubled night and brought an accomplished hum to his bones. The other plus side to this is that he gets to be out of the house and away from tasks and responsibilities, and once he gets back to Bristol, he will be in shape and ready to take on anything that life throws at him. No seriously, he can already feel the positive effect that running has had on his body. 

He wipes off his damp forehead with his bicep and pulls off his shirt, swinging it at his side as he trots leisurely across the courtyard and unlocks the door, his flanks twinging and chest rising and falling with each step. He puts his headphones in the pockets of his joggers and goes upstairs to shower. 

After his shower, his body starts acting up. Nausea causes his stomach to roll inward, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten anything yet. 

In the kitchen, dressed in fresh clothes and hair still dripping wet, he gulps an entire glass of iced water, his Adam’s apple working in overdrive to push it down. Some slips past the corner of his lips, dropping onto his shirt in his haste. He refills it and drinks another, his thirst everlasting and his empty tummy bottomless.

Louis heaves a sigh, setting his glass on the counter with a clink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Yeah well,  _ fuck _ running, he muses, worn out and done with life. He definitely is reconsidering actually making jogging his daily summer routine. His muscles, which were already screaming with pain before he even began his run, are now so sore that they shake weakly with each careful, moaning step. He plops into the first chair he spots. A tenuous headache creeps its way to the middle of his forehead and he massages his temples. 

"Fuck sports," he groans as a wave of sickness engulfs his body frame. His stomach turns and bile builds on his tongue. He cringes and swallows it down with his eyes squeezed shut. He overdid it, that’s for sure. He hasn’t had a workout routine for years, not since his gigs with Niall became a regular thing and all of his free time was spent practicing. 

In college he used to play football three times a week and on weekends with his friends. He was fairly fit back in the day and a run like this wouldn’t have had any noticeable effect, but now… either he’s getting older or he has partied too much. Either way, he feels shitty and goes upstairs for a catnap, the throbbing of his headache now circling around his head. The moment his cheek touches his pillow, sleep sweeps over him like an extra blanket and he is out like a light soon after that. 

* * * 

Louis only wanted a short power nap, but what he got was four full hours of full-blown dead-to-the-world sleep, only waking up to a late afternoon lunch. Matt complains nonstop about Louis sleeping during the day, telling him it’s a waste of time. No matter how many times Louis argues back that he had a restless night, Matt stands by his fucked up nonsense. Louis glances to his mother for backup and assurance that it was completely fine and no big deal, but he only finds her spooning bone broth past her lips, her gaze glued to her bowl as she probably silently agrees with Matt. When Louis mentions all over again that he is indeed on break and deserves a bit of down time, Matt goes into a discussion of how he, when he was a child, never had a break nor holidays and had to work for his dad’s business throughout his childhood, teenage years, and on weekends until he finally took over. Apparently he never stopped working and never took a short nap, telling Louis anew that it’s for old people and not for humans his age. 

Louis’ hands ball into fists below the table. He keeps them on his jiggling thighs as Matt’s booming voice carries on and kills the good mood he woke up in — well-rested, a bit sore, but overall doing better than before, his headache having decreased blissfully. However, now all he wants is to go back into the woods for another run because he’d prefer dying of thirst and burning his muscles to sitting at that table, spooning fucking bland soup and listening to Matt ramble on about how it used to be and how it is now.

He pokes the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek, holding back a snarky remark as Matt continues on about how men aren’t men anymore. Nobody wants to do hard work any longer, they all want into the IT-business — and women,  _ oh dear god _ , women nowadays are more into working than raising children and staying at home — how old is Matt again? How could his mother fall in love with such a close-minded human being whilst she is tender-hearted, loving, and supportive? Louis doesn’t understand. He has never encountered someone so ignorant and egotistical with a world view from fifty years ago. The more he talks, the more passionate and loud he gets. Who cares so deeply about this crap? 

"Honey," Jay interrupts at last, touching Matt’s arm to gain his attention. He stops mid-sentence, lips parted and all. "Let him breathe, he helped a lot already, didn’t he? Take it easy. He is a fine boy, he doesn’t need a lecture.” 

Louis releases a sigh of relief and silently slurps his soup as Matt nods, sending him something close to an apologetic smile. After that, the mood improves a bit as his mother starts a conversation about the location they had a look at and how much she loves it. Matt blooms like a flower under her praise and rambles on about renovations he wants to make. When he mentions that he wants to begin looking for employees soon, the meaningful gaze that is flashed Louis’ way doesn’t go unnoticed, but Louis pretends to be very interested in picking apart his uneaten and dry toast. 

When they are all done with their soup, Louis excuses himself to get his guitar and sit by the river to play around a bit. His music sheets are bright on his phone display, but the sun makes it pretty difficult to see past his reflection. Somehow he makes it work, and ends up replying quickly to Niall, sending him a picture of himself holding the neck of the guitar near his face with a short caption:  _ be proud, you knob.  _ He gets a prompt reply with a thumbs up and a smiley face with rosy cheeks. He uploads it on his Instagram account as well, telling everyone how buzzed he is to get into it and throughout his time at the river, his phone tweedles with a few comments and notifications of likes showing at the top of his screen. 

That’s how he spends the rest of his day: outside, taking breaks in between playing and jamming on the guitar, smoking, laying in the grass, and watching birds. He is definitely staying out of Matt’s way, too. 

It’s lovely, really. It feels more like summer and much more of a break than anything he has done so far. If this is how the rest of his stay here will go, he will be just fine.

* * * 

The week passes with Louis going for a run each morning — though he doesn’t overdo it anymore and keeps his jog simple and light, taking long breaks throughout to explore the forest and snap a few pictures along the way for Niall and his sister. After he’s done and worn out from his jog, he takes a shower, and after that he goes grocery shopping. 

By Friday it has already become a sort of daily routine. Matt doesn’t comment on him laying in the grass for the majority of his days, which Louis is glad about because at night he hasn’t been able to sleep well. He keeps waking up to noises - cracking sounds and footsteps - but whenever he finally gives up on sleeping through it and goes to check what the fuck is going on, there is nothing to be seen. 

One time was fine, but now this has happened four nights in a row and he has no idea what it could be. When he brings it up at lunch one day, his mother shrugs and gives him the explanation of,  _ 'it’s an old house, love, every house makes noises usually, the pipes are rusted…’  _ and so on — which alright, makes sense, thanks. By the end of the week, he doesn’t bother checking anymore, just pulls his pillow over his head, forcing his body to go from startled panic mode back to sleeping. It takes him much longer than he is used to and it sucks, so he concludes that he deserves all the rest in the world during the daytime. Somehow in broad daylight it’s quiet and only the melodies of birds chirping their songs can be heard through the open balcony door. 

Today is Friday. He went on his run, went grocery shopping, and is currently sitting at his spot by the river, his guitar laid next to him whilst he stares at the flowing water. 

He can’t bring himself to practice, nor is he in the mood to do anything else. Niall is busy and not replying to his hilarious texts and cries for attention. His mother is gone with Matt for the time being to god knows where - it’s not like Louis cares much since having Matt out of the house is a blessing. 

However, he craves company, not used to being alone. He feels a bit isolated and lonely, missing home more than he thought possible. Boredom hangs like a rainy cloud over his head, increasing his gloomy mood and causing him to chain smoke. 

Harry, the boy who showed up in his bedroom the other day, hasn’t come around another time and although he doesn’t want to admit it aloud, he is kind of disappointed. It would just be nice to at least have someone here with him in flesh and blood, someone to joke around with or slouch on the sofa and watch a movie - which is always more fun in company than alone, right? Louis loves watching people’s reactions to a scene, finding it more entertaining than the movie itself.

If Louis only had Harry’s mobile number or address, he would bury his dignity and reach out himself, no matter how desperate he’d come off as. The boredom is literally tearing him apart, killing him slowly and painfully. 

Ugh. Small town, indeed. Nothing to do but watch birds.  _ Fuck birds _ , they are bloody annoying. 

Returning indoors, he flops onto the sofa in the living room and turns on the telly, which only started working two days ago. Nothing interesting is on, only a baking show and reality rubbish — which, no thanks. Giving up on that, he turns to the wall high library and browses the collection his mother has hoarded over the years. Still, he comes up empty since he can’t concentrate on a classic novel, never could, and he isn’t in the mood for those thrillers his mother is a huge fan of either. With a long lasting groan, he glances around the living room, but nothing seems to be worth his while - no books, no movies - and that’s why he goes upstairs. 

He flings himself onto his bed, staring at the ceiling until his eyeballs dry and he is forced to blink. He folds his hands over his stomach and makes the highest, noisiest mewl he can muster, ending up sounding like a dying whale. 

Netflix, his saviour, is out of the question because the WiFi isn’t working for some reason and he doesn’t want to use up his precious data on his mobile, preferring to save it for when any of his friends choose to reply and distract him. They are probably doing loads of fun things. 

It’s all shit. His life is shit. He hates boredom. 

Living without internet — living in a forest - isn’t for him, he guesses, rolling onto his side and closing his eyelids. He can’t wait to get back home to civilisation. 

Another nap will have to do for now and with that, he is drawn into a light half-sleep. 

* * * 

It’s seven when dinner is ready and Louis’ mood has decreased so much that it’s currently buried below ground. He eats his supper silently and doesn’t even frown at all the shit that spews out of Matt’s mouth between hasty bites. 

Boredom is getting the best out of him and it’s so unbearable that he ends up offering freely to do the dishes and clean the pans and pots. His mother smiles in gratitude and they work side by side while Matt fucks off to plant his arse the sofa cushions. Shortly after, the chatter from people on-screen carries through the foyer into the kitchen. Louis doesn’t mind though, at least he gets to spend a bit of time alone with his mum, which they haven’t so far. 

"What’s wrong?" Jay asks, putting a plate in the dishwasher, while Louis stores the leftovers of chicken and noodles in the fridge, the light of the fridge illuminating his face. 

Louis sighs out of his nose and rolls his eyes at his mother with a dramatic pout. "I’m so bored, kill me. Please. I’m begging." 

Jay returns his gesture, washing her hands while doing so. "Why don’t you read?" 

" _ Booh _ ." 

“Watch a movie?” 

“Netflix doesn’t work without WiFi.” 

"Study?" 

“Mum!” 

“Okay, okay…” she huffs a laugh, “why don’t you play guitar?” 

"No…" Louis’ pout becomes exaggerated and pathetic. 

"Louis," she chuckles, shaking her head at him as if he’s a wonderment to her, and perhaps he is. "C’mon now, you could play a song for me. Why don’t you? I saw you practicing outside.” 

Louis pulls a grimace, rubbing above his eyebrow. "Yeah, no see I did that  _ all week _ …" he says in his most whiny voice, blinking at his mother a bit helplessly. “I just...no, ugh.”

"Hm," her shoulders hunch inward in defeat, “well, honey, I don’t know either.” 

Yeah…

Silently, they finish up the kitchen and after that step outside, his mother telling him she isn’t in the mood to watch telly and the weather is still too nice to sit indoors anyway. He guesses she’s right. One can never know with British weather.

Louis lights a cigarette and Jay sips her wine, both seated next to one another on the outdoor lounge as a full moon illuminates the night in a light bluish glow. It’s beautiful and Louis watches the sparkling stars as he emits smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"You know…" she starts, placing her wine glass on the table, "there is a pub in town, why don’t you go and check it out?" 

Louis exhales grey fume, directing it over her head as he ponders over her idea. "Alone?" He wrinkles his nose, that’d be boring as hell, wouldn’t it? He’d look pathetic getting drunk on his own. 

Jay gives a one shoulder shrug, turning her head sideways. "You make friends so easily, hun. I’m sure it’ll be fine." 

Hm…glancing around, his attention is drawn to laughter coming from the telly that floats outside from the open terrance door — yeah, maybe going out wouldn’t be the  _ worst  _ of all ideas. It can’t be more boring than an evening doing absolutely nothing, right? His body is restless to do something and so is his mind. So, who cares if he looks like a loner, innit? 

He mimics her shrug and sucks on another long lasting drag, flicking the ash into the ashtray. "I guess…" he mutters under his breath and blows smoke out of his nostrils. "Why not?" When he brings his steady gaze to the sky, a shooting star flies over his head and if that isn’t a goddamn sign, Louis doesn’t know what is. "Could you give me a ride, please?" 

Jay smiles. "Of course." 

"Thanks." 

* * * 

Louis is ready to go, dressed in black skinny jeans and a blank white tee with a neckline that cuts into his throat - no matter how many times he tugs and pulls, it never loosens, just snaps back against his skin. It’s definitely not his best outfit, but wearing a fancy blazer is over the top for a pub night by himself, and he didn’t think he’d end up going anywhere but out for dinner with his family, so he hadn’t brought outfits that are more chic yet casual like he usually wears when he hits the streets with his mates. But again, does it matter? Probably not. 

He quits stressing about his outfit and combs his hair, but his fringe is a bloody disaster, floppy and refusing to form into something more appealing. It’s  _ whatever _ . Seriously. Louis likes to look decent and this…just isn’t it. Anyway, at least he’s wearing his favourite pair of jeans, innit? With a last critical glimpse in the mirror, he groans a sigh and for good measure flips himself off, because seriously, it's not that tragic. It’s an outfit. It’s a small town. Who is going to care? Nobody. He goes downstairs. 

His mother contemplates his outfit skeptically and he jerks his head away from her fingers as she starts fixing his hair because obviously she can’t leave it alone. However, before she can offer to redo it completely, Louis urges them to be on their way at last. 

The drive is short and filled with quiet chatter about nothing in particular while music flows inside the car as background noise. 

Jay drops him off a street away from the pub. She does the routine of  _ 'if you need a ride home, call me anytime, I mean it — anytime, Lou’  _ and after he has reassured her that of course, he will just do that, thank you mum, thank you, he is out and about. He buries his hands in his pockets as he legs through the empty, lifeless street. His eyes wander to the clear sky and he smiles at the fullness of the moon; he has always adored a full moon, it makes everything more magical and he doesn’t believe in that crap people say about not being able to sleep well those nights. It’s just superstition and nonsense — an easy reason for their problems. 

Although nobody is on the streets, the pub is fucking overloaded with people as he enters. For a moment he stands like an idiot by the door, blinking at the mass of people, perplexed. He had expected a maximum of five hanging around, and what he got was the  _ entire _ town; at least, that’s what it looks like anyway. Huh? Okay...okay. 

A young bloke with sunny hair shoulders past him, sending him a funny look that brings his legs to move at last. Gathering himself, he makes his way to the bar of rustic wood and stands right where the waitresses rush in and out. It’s basically the only spot left, as every single stool is taken. Well, Louis guesses, sweeping his gaze over the scene, from here with nobody breathing down his neck, he has the perfect overview of the totality of this place.  _ It’s Raining Men _ begins to play in the background, the murmur of chatter and laughter going around growing louder.

The bar is taken by elderly looking guys who resemble Matt somehow — gruff, with beards, out of shape, and yet could crush your head without breaking a sweat. It’s best to stay out of their way, Louis thinks as they all roar with booming laughter, letting his gaze wander to the booths that are filled with people closer to his age. Maybe they are home from University too. It’s a cow-and-fields kind of village, so it seems unlikely but they could have brought friends, right? Who knows? Who cares? Louis is just a bit…caught off guard so to say. It’s interesting. 

A group of girls wearing white maxi-dresses by the far end catches his attention. All of them look straight out of a seventies movie. The only thing that is missing are flower crowns and their  _ hippie-no-internet-save-the-bees _ appearance would be complete. They giggle and even from the distance Louis can hear them over the music and chatter. He watches as they stick their heads together, glancing at someone Louis can’t spot from his position because one of the Matt-lookalikes keeps moving his head back and forth. 

"What can I get you?" someone to his left asks and he turns his head, smile already on his lips on reflex. 

"Gin and tonic, love, thank you." He widens his smile, letting his teeth show and gets a grin in return with a  _ ‘sure thing, babe’ _ thrown his way. The woman behind the counter, who Louis guesses is in her thirties, turns her back on him as she mixes his drink, slicing lemon and swirling around a glass straw before placing it under his nose with an easy smile. He pays directly and takes a large, refreshing sip, the tonic water sizzling on his tongue. He mostly drinks beer, but tonight he needs something stronger and he isn’t a fan of whiskey or vodka - that only works when he’s had a few and can no longer tell drinks apart from one another. 

The alcohol relaxes his tense muscles as he knew it would and he leans his upper body weight sideways against the counter, the slightly rounded edge digging into the curve of his waist. As  _ The Rolling Stones _ come on and blast out of the speakers, he bobs his head to the music and takes a sip. This isn’t too bad actually, not at all. He smiles around the straw.

Perhaps his time here won’t be all going on runs, playing guitar, and helping his parents. Here blooms a real chance to bring a bit more fun and adventure into this entire thing. He just needs to drink a bit more to build up the courage to go talk to someone — that’s so much easier when he isn’t so fucking sober. He is awkward about it because he is alone in a place he has never been before and seeing all of these groups together, he guesses that they are close friends. In a way he feels like an outcast and supposes that he is indeed just that.

Usually when Louis goes out he brings friends and is never without a familiar presence. That way it’s better to talk to new people because nobody can resist Niall, who is a social butterfly, making friends in a span of five minutes with no trouble whatsoever. Louis enjoys people and makes friends easily too - as his mum reminded him earlier tonight - but not in an overcrowded pub. It works best for him outside whilst he smokes and offers his lighter around before starting a conversation. Smokers stick together, it’s always great. 

Tonight he doubtlessly wishes he had Niall’s magnificent charm - then he could ditch his typical smoke breaks, since his spot is too good to give up just now. 

He takes another sip and lets his eyes travel over the townspeople, energetic now that alcohol flows through his body and the shock has abated. To form a smile is now no difficulty, as the song changes to a  _ Led Zeppelin _ song and the army of Matts beside him howl and go into wild animal party mode, roaring the lyrics. Louis’ brows tilt upward in amusement as they begin knocking their fists on the counter, generating a vibration that travels through his body makes from where he makes contact with it. 

The girls in hippie dresses are still giggling and leaning towards each other with quick glances to the side as if they are sharing school gossip. 

"Is it always like this?" Louis asks one of the guys closest to him, as the song switches to  _ Bruno Mars  _ and the lads sober.

"A full house, you mean?" the man asks, lifting his brows mildly. When Louis nods, the guy gives a helpless shrug and glances around as if he’s only noticing all the other people now. "No, we don’t really know most of those people and let me tell you I grew up here." 

"Hm, that’s interesting," Louis mutters for the lack of anything better to add, sipping his drink. The man directs his attention back to his friends just as someone tells a joke and they erupt into loud, throaty laughter. 

The door opens and a new swing of town folks steps inside, bringing the fresh night air with them. They are a bit older than Louis himself, but not by much - maybe in their thirties as the bar woman is - all wearing black and looking quite edgy, their hair styled back with gel and the girls with theirs dyed in bright neon colours. They wear sparkling make-up, which Louis only notices because Lottie points these kinds of things out to him when they party together, and now he just kind of checks people’s make-up out of pure habit— look what his sister has done to him, unbelievable. 

_ Where are they coming from? _ Louis wonders as they pass him and join a group by a booth right next to the door. Maybe there was a concert in town — again,  _ unlikely _ , but what does Louis know? A concert would be the best explanation for their outfits, black from head to toe and heavy make-up, even on the guys. They take up the last bit of the space in the suffocating pub. 

Louis finishes his drink with a big gulp, dropping his head back as an ice cube tumbles into his mouth. He lets it melt on his tongue, but sadly it has zero effect of cooling his heated body. 

Before ordering another for himself, he is forced to give up his spot with a heavy heart, knowing the moment that he steps away someone else will claim it for themselves. Nonetheless, his need for oxygen and a smoke wins the upper hand and he gives up, going outside. 

Surprisingly, Louis is the only one outdoors. 

He leans against the brick wall and lets the invigorating air devour him, breathing out with relief at having escaped the sauna-like walls and ongoing noise level of blasting music, tangled voices and giggled, hooted cheers. Louis gets a cigarette between his parted lips, but it takes a couple of clicking tries to set it aflame because of the wind. He bows his head in frustration, shielding the petite orange flame with his cupped palm. Taking the first puff into his expanding lungs, it feels like someone has massaged his shoulders and set hot stones along his spine — relaxation is instant and for a brief moment he closes his eyelashes, enjoying how the nicotine and booze mix and swirl in his sleepy, drunk brain.

Fighting voices bring Louis to open his eyelids and he spots a couple immersed in a vehement discussion not far from him down the pavement. He watches on as they argue with one another, raising his eyebrows mildly. Since he hadn’t seen them inside, he guesses they were either on the way to the pub or moving past it. He comes to that conclusion because one of the two blokes points to the pub — Louis at first thought they were pointing at him, but well, he has done nothing but smoke peacefully, standing next to the door so yeah, all good — and the other lad is shaking his head maniacally, gesturing in the general direction of the sky. He is a bit shorter and much slimmer than the guy gesturing animatedly towards the pub. Well...the other guy isn’t chubby at all, just really, really muscular, as if he hits the gym every day and doesn’t stop until someone has to force him to leave. He looks good, reminding Louis a little bit of David Beckham and that’s  _ clearly _ the highest of compliments. 

The smaller guy looks at Louis, noticing him staring and Louis drops his gaze quickly to the ground, which is plastered with old cigarette filters and spit out gum. He cringes and brings his fag to his lips for the last drag, and by the time he looks up again the couple has left, walking away. He only spots their backs in the distance, their muffled voices carried away by the wind. Pursing his lips, he throws his cigarette in the ashtray, because it’s not that arduous to be a decent human and not clutter the earth. Anyway. 

Back indoors, the volume of sounds slurred together has increased and so has the stickiness of the air and the smell of whiskey and sweat. This place is far too small to hoard so many bloody people. For a second, Louis considers going home, but the clock on his phone shows him that it’s not nearly late enough and no new messages are waiting for him. Therefore, he purses his lips, moving them to the left, pockets his phone, and braces himself to squeeze into the mass. 

Since his bladder is acting up in pressuring need for release, he makes a detour from the bar, sliding between bodies to get to the restroom. 

He has a quick piss and takes his sweet time to comb his hair, shaking out his shirt. His neckline is damp with sweat and still freaking cutting into the hollow of his throat; it exacerbates the feeling of being choked and he regrets not simply going in a loose Adidas sports shirt.

His fringe is an added problem, laying cross on his forehead and almost entirely hiding one of his eyes. He ruffles his fingers through it, but this only has the effect of making it look greasier than before. With a cut-off groan he leaves it at that, flattening it on his forehead and flicking the ends of the strands to the side so at least it won’t poke his eyeball the entire time. Louis needs a haircut, he knows. Maybe he will get that Thomas Shelby haircut everyone is obsessed with — by  _ ‘everyone’ _ he means Niall and himself. They had started watching  _ Peaky Blinders _ just before summer break and became so drawn into the storyline that it consumed them for two days straight, staying up all night with the help of energy drinks and cigarettes and wasting the following day binge-watching it as well, cancelling plans left and right and only pausing to order pizza and use the loo. He thinks neither of them got even a full hour of sleep. No regrets, though. It was worth it. Louis feels sorry for anyone who hasn’t watched that bloody show already. He’d honestly watch it for Cillian Murphy alone. 

Unable to come up with a good enough reason to stall any longer, he re-enters the crowd, his eyes skimming over the bustling space until they land on a bloke who he finds already staring at him, pinning him on the spot with an intense gaze. Louis frowns, cocking his head to the side as a nagging feeling inside his mind pokes his box of memories. Just when the boy hops off the stool, it clicks into place and Louis raises his eyebrows in sheer surprise. 

_ Isn’t the world just tiny?  _

Louis ambles over to him and they meet halfway by the jukebox. 

"Hi," 

"Hi yourself," Louis says with a smile, relief washing over him at having found at least one person he knows…well,  _ kinda _ . 

"Why are you without a drink?" Harry asks, shadowed eyes dropping to Louis’ empty hands before snapping back to his face like a rubber band, his dark lashes fluttering prettily. 

"Well, I went for a smoke, so…” Louis gives a fragile one shoulder shrug, fiddling with his tight neckline for a moment. “What are you drinking?" he asks, nodding at Harry’s drink with tepid raised eyebrows.

Instead of answering, Harry hands Louis his sweating glass. "Try it." He leans closer to him to be heard over the music and Louis’ neck tingles as his hot, sweet breath fans over the side of his cheek. 

Louis swallows and takes the glass, bringing it slowly to his lips whilst maintaining eye-contact with Harry, who nods in encouragement.

He takes a tiny, testing sip and frowns in astonishment, having expected something bitter or dry tasting. It’s…something tropical with a syrupy aftertaste, though that would explain the smell that seems to be clinging to Harry. Louis knows the overload of sugar that explodes on his taste buds is just a distraction, and the drink is fucking loaded with whiskey or rum or some strong shit, reminding him of Lottie’s eighteens birthday when they made strawberry punch and overdid it with the liquor, therefore adding so much sweetener that you couldn’t taste a thing. The night is still a blur in Louis’ mind, but the hangover that happened the following day will forever be a reminder not to get tricked by the overall decent taste, because it’s all a trap. It’s exceptional though, and Louis can’t complain. Definitely a nice alternative to beer or gin. 

He hands Harry the drink and licks his lips, catching more sweetness from his wet upper lip. "S’good!" he calls over the music. 

"I know. I love it, tried it tonight for the first time. Usually stick to beer. I’ll get you a drink, yeah?" 

"You don’t have to—" Louis protests, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s forearm to stop the already turning boy from heading to the bar. 

Harry shakes his head at him, amusement gleaming in his green eyes. “No, but I’d like to. As apology for causing you to spill that orange juice, yeah? And as a thank you for not kicking me out flying. A drink is the least I can do.” 

"All right, all right, yeah if you insist..." Louis gives in easily enough. To be honest he won’t ever deny a free drink from a cute boy; he is not that daft. 

As Harry goes to the bar and leaves Louis standing alone aimlessly, he goes over to the wall next to the old jukebox. It’s turned off and probably doesn’t work any longer, the sound system behind the bar in use instead. Yet it gives this pub even more of a vintage touch that is quite enchanting, and fits right in this town. He bobs his head to the music and keeps an eye out for Harry who isn’t visible between the Matt-clones anymore. 

It takes two song changes for Harry to find him again, in his hands two identical drinks. He gives one of them to Louis with a nervous smile. 

“I hope it’s okay I ordered my previous drink for you, too! Didn’t know if you’d like something else, completely forgot to ask.” 

"No, no it’s great, nice yeah, thanks!" Louis says, a bit rushed as the song is ending and there is a pause in between. He returns the smile before bringing his exotic drink - or well, cocktail - to his lips and taking a long delicious sip. “Really nice,” he says again. He doesn’t know why, but the way Harry is watching him brings a wave of nerves washing over his body frame. He tugs on his shirt. 

“Glad you enjoy it,” Harry grins and Louis reddens around his cheeks. It’s from the alcohol, though nothing more, has nothing to do with Harry’s dimples or the way he angles his body causing their shoulders to brush. Nope, it’s from the alcohol. Obviously. 

It takes a few more sips for him to find his confidence, which he has lacked all night until spotting Harry, now feeling less excluded in a place where everyone hangs around with their friends, no matter their age. 

They stand side by side and make insignificant small talk about the songs that play and the way the woman behind the counter keeps rushing around trying to serve a million people at once, which leads to the amazement on Louis’ end yet again at how many people here are - because honestly his favourite pub in Bristol might be a hit but you are still able to breathe and move around freely without bumping into anyone’s shoulder, well it does happen but it’s a rare occasion. Harry has a bit of a different opinion about it than the older man Louis talked to earlier. He disagrees, telling Louis it’s always this full, at least when he’s hitting the scene, which he doesn’t do as often as he’d like.

It’s lovely. Their chit chat flows between them like they have known each other longer than they actually have, leaving no awkward pauses. It feels like they are throwing a ball back and forth of different kinds of conversations. Only here and there, they are interrupted by giggling that comes from their right. It’s those hippie girls and apparently Louis has discovered the source for their endless entertainment — it’s Harry that they point, giggle, and laugh at. 

It doesn’t take long for Louis to grow irritated, though Harry either doesn’t seem to take any notice of them or simply doesn’t care, too engaged in Louis’ words. 

Louis coaxes him closer with a wiggle of his index, and Harry ducks a bit to hear him better, which —  _ hey, _ Louis is not  _ that _ small, thank you very much. 

"Do you know them or what’s the matter?" he asks, speaking directly into Harry’s ear, nodding in the overall direction of the group, trying to be subtle while doing so. 

Harry’s mouth twists, and he ends up giving a reserved shrug as he glances towards them too. In that moment they break out into another fit of their high pitched laughter. Louis’ eyebrows twitch in annoyance. 

"Dunno," Harry drawls his mumble, straightening his spine. "They’re being silly, s’all." 

Louis snorts at his bullshit explanation and sends them a funny look as they  _ yet again _ fucking giggle at them, or well, Harry. They must be a bit older than Louis but they are acting like they are fifteen and in school, bullying their fellow students with the sounds of their unbearable voices. In this very moment, Louis is bloody glad that his sister never acted this childishly and wonders anew what the fuck their bloody problem is. As far Louis is aware this has been going on all night. How can Harry be so serene about it? 

When they point at Harry and fall into another fit of bubbly titters, Louis huffs and raises his eyebrows at Harry, who shrugs nonchalantly. "It’s whatever," he says, taking a sip of his cocktail. 

"It’s not," Louis says, matter-of-factly, "hold my drink a sec, will you?" 

" _ Don’t _ , Louis, c’mon. Just…leave them." Harry begs with wide eyes, holding him in place by his underarm. 

"I just wanna ask what this is about, yeah? I’m not gonna be like  _ rude _ or anything," Louis rolls his eyes at Harry, waving an airy hand as if to wipe away the worries that are etched on the other boy’s face. "Just — hold my drink, I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”

"All right," Harry gives up, taking Louis’ drink with a silent sigh and wary expression. 

Louis feels Harry’s gaze on his back as he goes over to the booth, the girls falling silent as he stops at their table. 

"Hello, girls," he says, faux-cheery and dying a little bit inside as they look at him with huge perplexed eyes. "What’s the matter?" he asks and sits next to a brunette girl. "Do you have a problem with my friend over there?" he asks, pointing over his shoulder in the direction of Harry, "because honestly it gets a bit tiring after a while to be fucking laughed at. It’s rude, you know?” 

"Harry is your friend?" one asks and exchanges amused glances with a girl sitting across her, who pulls a grimace. "Like, seriously?" 

Louis doesn’t get what’s so funny about that. He might not have known Harry for  _ that _ long — or at  _ all _ , but nothing about Harry seems to stick out as hilarious to him.

"Just stop, okay?" Louis rolls his eyes. 

They all send each other eyebrow raises. The little bit of irritation that bottled up inside him grows and threatens to rip any second now. 

"We’ll try. No promises though," one of them says with a shrug. 

"Do you know Harry?" Louis can’t resist asking, chewing on his bottom lip, "Were you guys in school together or summat?" 

Again, looks go around that he can’t identify the meaning of. It all rubs him the wrong way. 

As one of them starts to reply, the other girl elbows her in the ribs, hissing, “ _ shh, he’s coming! _ ” 

The booth falls silent and, sure enough, when Louis checks Harry is making his way over. 

He puts Louis’ and his drink on the table and smiles at them, his eyes wandering from mute face to mute face. "You all right, Louis?" he asks. 

"Sure,” Louis replies slowly. “They will stop annoying you now, so...it’s fine." Louis gets up, but one of the girls holds him back. He raises his eyebrows at her in question. Her gaze darts from him to Harry, her mouth opening and closing yet no words coming out. Her expression is cautious, and it causes something pull on his insides. 

“C’mon Louis, just leave ‘em,” Harry urges, taking their drinks, “lets get out of here.” 

The girl’s hand drops onto the table and Louis frowns at her but shrugs inwardly to himself. As he follows behind Harry, he feels their eyes burning holes into his spine. When he checks back over his shoulder, they have their heads stuck together and are talking animatedly amongst themselves, not sparing him any mind.

The weird, unsettling sensation lifts as they don’t hear another laugh from the girls. 

They find a stool at the bar as an older man leaves, and promptly claim it. Harry kindly offers it to Louis while he stands sideways, propping the point of his elbow on the surface. Louis’ knees touch Harry’s thighs. 

Because Louis had been so distracted by the girls and Harry in general before, he only notices now that those girls weren’t the only ones whose attention was on Harry. A few guys next to them, behind Harry’s back, are sending them whimsical looks too, and so is that edgy group from Louis’ imaginary concert. 

"I shouldn’t have come here tonight," Harry confesses after a girl with heavy eye make-up shoulders past him, making him spill some of his drink. He shakes out his hand with a scrunched up nose. 

Louis stares at her in utter shock — how fucking rude, hello, excuse you? She doesn’t seem to notice though. Shaking his head to himself, he leans over the bar, taking a handful of napkins. He dabs over the dark spots on Harry’s black shirt with a slight frown. He doesn’t understand what’s going on but the expression on Harry’s face is absolutely crestfallen, his green eyes glossed over and the high point of his cheeks dotted red. He takes Harry’s hand, cleaning the sticky liquor off his fingers. 

"Don’t mind them," Louis says. He tries for a smile, but it turns out weary. 

Harry huffs and takes a large sip from his drink. "Trying to, it’s pretty hard though." He glances to the side, gazing over the people, and presses his waist further against the edge of the bar, stepping a bit closer to Louis as he directs his blinking eyes back to him. "But I’m still glad I did," he rasps, a delicate smile forming on his rosy lips, bringing out his dimples.

Louis’ own smile widens slowly as his heart rate picks up. "Oh yeah?" he asks, taking a sip of his drink. He enjoys the sweetness with a hum that is swallowed by the music, but still causes his chest to vibrate. 

Harry nods, his face now very close to Louis’ and if Louis would just surge forward, they’d kiss. His eyes flicker to Harry’s pink lips, his breath hitching in his throat as his vision turns a tad blurry around the edges. His mouth is run dry. 

"Harry!" someone calls, breaking their little moment as Harry startles, taking a step backwards. 

Louis faces the bar, exhaling out shakily and widening his eyes. That was close, bloody hell. 

"Oh," Harry says, turning to the person and instantly getting drawn into a conversation. 

Louis taps his fingers on the counter before spinning around and rather than watching the barkeeper, he casts his attention on the crowd. 

It’s still a full house but some have left already, like the hippie girls who winked at Harry on their way out. The edgy people have vanished too but a wave of normal looking people stepped in, claiming the majority of the booths for themselves; one of them is the guy that Harry is talking to. Louis can’t understand what they speak about because of the music, but by the look on Harry’s face it can’t be that bad. He’s smiling and nodding along. 

When the guy leaves, Harry brings his attention to Louis, a permanent smile on his face. 

Louis opens and shuts his mouth, before he swallows, pursing his lips briefly. "Uh, you seem to know the whole gang, eh?" he speaks the obvious. 

Harry gives a single shoulder shrug. "I grew up here," he says, "I know them but do I like them…?" he raises his eyebrows and tsks his tongue, "I guess not very much." 

"What’s the deal then?" Louis questions. "You guys went to school together?" 

Harry looks away and again back at Louis, his expression shut down. "No, I didn’t go to school with any of them. But we…used to be something like friends, I guess." 

"You guess? What happened?" 

Harry chuckles, rubbing the side of his nose. "Loads of stuff. We grew apart and now it’s bloody awkward. That’s why they were laughing. Those girls you talked to, I mean." 

"Okay…" Louis shrugs, not really knowing what to say to that. He is still kind of friends with people he went to school with since they grew up together and liked one another and he knows if he’d call any one of them, they'd be happy to hear from him. Louis ran into some friends when he visited his grandpa a while back and they went to the pub together later that day and it was nice, like stepping into a time capsule and being transported back to happy days. They spent the night drinking and retelling old stories about their mischievous adventures as kids - like the time when Louis by accident kicked a ball into his neighbours window and because they thought they were really clever, ran away but when he came home he was greeted by his mum and their neighbour sitting in the living room and right there and then he thought it would be his end. However, all he had to do was help Mr. Richard to clean out his garage and that was it. It is still a joke amongst his people; they won’t ever let him forget, that’s for sure. Perhaps that’s just him though and he was lucky enough to stumble into great company early on in life. 

"Don’t worry too much about them," Harry says, poking his finger in Louis’ ribs and bringing him out of memory lane. 

Louis grins, efficiently letting his worries puff into a cloud of nothing. "Fine, all right, I won’t. I’ll buy us the next round though." 

Harry bobs his head. "If you  _ must… _ " 

Louis orders their cocktails and pays, though the bartender exchanges a puzzling sort of glance with Harry before accepting the money. Louis stopped wondering about these little things a few minutes ago and doesn’t ask, simply sipping on his sugar sweet cocktail and falling into the first silence so far with Harry; it’s comfortable. 

Although he told himself to let it go and not bring it up, he makes sure to stare down every single person who sends Harry a funny look and is quick to smile innocently at Harry when he catches his eye. 

"Do you like it here so far?" Harry asks, leaning into Louis. 

He nods, giving a shrug. "Sure, it’s nice. Different, but nice." It’s not a complete lie. 

"That’s great, okay. Why did you move back to your parents though? I mean, no offence but this world is so…big and the door kind of stands open for someone like you, doesn’t it? So why move into the smallest town you can find on a map?" 

Louis takes a sip of his drink. "Well, it’s not like I’m going to stay, I’m only here for a visit, I’ll leave after semester break is over." 

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. "Oh," he lets out, breathy and clearly caught off guard. "I didn’t know that?" He frowns, asking more himself than Louis. 

"Eh, yeah, I mean how could you, right?" Louis smiles mildly, "We talked like...once."

"Right," Harry says, his frown still in place, deepening as he stares at Louis. "Where do you live if not in this town?" 

"In Bristol. I study music.” 

At that Harry lights up as if Louis has told him the most fantastic news ever. " _ Awesome _ , I love music." He nods, an impressed look clear as a cloudless day on his pretty features. “Do you play any instruments?" 

"Sure do. I play piano a bit, like I’m no Bach but I’m doing alright. And currently I’m learning the guitar," Louis reddens under his bright green eyes, tugging on his neckline and shifting on his stool. 

"Cool, I’d love to hear you play sometime," Harry’s smile turns lopsided. 

"Hm," Louis pulls a grimace. 

Harry laughs. "What?" 

"I didn’t bring my keyboard with me, so there’s that. Honestly I won’t let anyone hear me play guitar until I’m more practiced otherwise it’d be a downright humiliation. I don’t wanna scare you off.” 

"I could teach you guitar, if you’d like. I play a bit myself." 

"Really?" Louis exclaims, his eyes widen. "Do you? That’d be sick, mate." 

Harry’s cheeks turn a bit rosy below his eyes and he smiles bashfully, a dimple appearing. "No trouble, just let me know. But I’ve gotta say, I haven’t played in a long while.”

"No, no!” Louis rights himself, waving his finger around. “There is no going back now.” 

Harry groans dramatically, covering his face with both of his hands. Louis notices at once how large they are and wonders how he could have overlooked that fact before. Harry peeks at him through the gaps of his fingers. Louis makes his best puppy-eyes and Harry drops the act with an amused shake of his head. “Sure, fine, I’m just a bit out of practice. But I can still teach you.” 

“Thanks." 

They smile at each other. 

Louis takes a last sip from his drink, smacking his lips before licking them. "I’m going to go for a smoke, do you mind?”

"Alright, okay. I’d come with you but…" he gestures to the chair. 

"It’s fine, I’ll be quick." 

Outside is a group of other smokers, but this time Louis stays close to the door, keeping to himself. He lights his cigarette quickly, having been honest when he said he would be back as fast as he could. He sucks nicotine into his body and takes a double-hit, keeping the ball of fumes sitting in his sternum until his mind starts going a bit dizzy and he blows it out into the darkness.

Crossing one arm to shield his heated body from the cold, he drops his head back and stares at the moon. It has now wandered past the highest point in the navy blue horizon, and there are no clouds hiding the stars as he watches them sparkle at him. 

Having a few minutes away from the noises and music, he can appreciate the serene atmosphere that lingers in the air. 

Everything about tonight is magnificent, he thinks, enjoying himself so much more than he could have hoped for when his mother suggested going out. 

Of course it has to do with his pure luck of running into Harry tonight, otherwise he would have left much sooner. Although their first meeting was odd at best, Louis has to admit that actually getting to know Harry better, he can’t find a bad bone in this boy’s body. He wonders how such an easygoing person as Harry sat alone in a pub in his hometown on a Friday night. He is as quick-humoured as Louis and honest to God,  _ so bloody cute _ that at times Louis has to look away just to control the smile that is threatening to split his face in two and try his best not to turn into a puddle of melted buttery mass on the dirty floor. He hasn’t been this smitten by anyone for a while and it’s a nice feeling to find a person like Harry so unexpectedly in such a random place as this village. Where it all might lead is still very much out there and unknown - yes Louis is not daft enough to be oblivious to Harry’s charming and flirting personality - but does it have to mean what Louis wants it to? His days here are limited...

_ Anyway, let’s not get ahead of yourself, _ Louis reminds himself, finishing his cigarette with a sucking drag. 

Once he has thrown his burned fag into the ashtray next to the door, he goes back indoors and freezes in his tracks, staring at the sight in front of him.

Two slender blokes with longish wild hair and untidy beards, looking as if they are straight out of another seventies movie, are pressing Harry into the front of the bar, their faces flushed red and angry. 

The taller one has the collar of Harry’s shirt fisted, shaking it as Harry lifts his hands in surrender with widened, fearful eyes. The other bloke is talking to Harry, his lips moving at a rapid speed, Harry replies, speaking equally as rushed and whatever he says sets another wave of anger crashing over them as the tall one pushes Harry even more so against the counter and the other steps closer in a threatening manner, massaging his cracking knuckles. Nobody in this bloody place seems to mind that a fight could erupt any second. 

_ What the fuck? _ He was gone for five minutes, tops.  _ Jesus _ . 

For another beat, all Louis can do is gawk flabbergasted at the scene, before shaking himself out if it as adrenaline pumps in his veins. He pushes on with a quick hammering heart and a run dry mouth. 

"What’s going on, lads?" he asks, voice clipped and firm. 

Neither of them lets up from Harry. They blandly ignore him, and Harry throws Louis an apologetic glance, his eyes telling him,  _ 'I’m so sorry' _ as if this is somehow his fault. Louis’ gut tells him it wasn’t Harry who started a fight but those two blokes that look like they were a part of Woodstock. Louis isn’t having it. He can’t stand fights or violence. It’s just a big red no go,  _ thanks _ . Seeing how this night is going, this is the last straw. 

"Okay, that’s  _ enough _ ," he sets his jaw, taking a step forward and gripping the arm that is pinning Harry on the spot. "Back off, mate. I mean it. Cut it out." 

The brown haired guy looks at Louis with taunting raised eyebrows. "Who are you?” he asks, voice gruff. “This is none of your business.” 

“It is,” Louis says with gritted teeth. “What the fuck is wrong with you? He has done nothing!” 

His words seem to have an effect on both of these arseholes. They exchange a quiet glance as Harry shifts his weight, uncomfortable. 

“Look at that,” the smaller one of them says, directed at Louis. Behind the other’s back, he levels him with evil, insane looking eyes. Louis’ stomach turns to a hot knot. “Harry, Harry... I can’t believe it,” he says, shaking his head in a faux-wonderment sort of way. Louis’ frown aggravates. “You made a proper friend there, eh? Guess, you both deserve each other. After everything.” 

"Leave him out of it," Harry presses, pushing against the taller one’s chest and successfully bringing a bit of distance between their bodies. “I mean it. Just, don’t. Please…” 

“Oh.  _ Please _ is it now?” the guys exchange highly amused glances, “ _ Requiescat in pace _ , Harry,  _ mors certa, hora incerta _ .” The tall man hisses and Louis can’t do more than blink because this isn’t English, this isn’t any language he has ever heard. Harry seems to understand just fine what has been said and glares at the two trouble-seekers. 

“Fuck off, just keep your mouth shut or else…” Harry threatens, a muscle in his jaw popping. 

“Or else what? You wanna  _ kill _ us, Harry? Huh?” the smaller one says, knocking his shoulder against the taller one’s side, “ _ Suum cuique! _ ”

Harry’s cheeks flush at that, his hands shaking. "Save it for another time, Ri. C’mon, shut up." 

Ri rolls his eyes, pushing Harry once more against the bar front before flipping him off with both raised hands, walking a few steps backwards. "Fucking  _ freak _ . You had  _ everything _ , you brat," he snarls, turning and stalking to sit in a booth with his friends, the other guy giving Harry an evil eye before joining them, hopping directly into a heated conversation. Louis glares at them as they point their fingers to Harry and Louis in outrage. 

"Are you okay?" Louis asks, bringing his attention from the group to Harry, feeling a bit swimmy. He rights Harry’s collar for him without second-thought. As Harry stares at him, he drops his hand, heat creeping from his neck to his cheeks. "Do you want to leave?" he asks, ruffling his hair with trembling fingers. This is quite the night. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know if he even wants to. 

Harry snorts a huff, "As if I’d let them win." He nods to them and raises his middle finger. They just shake their heads but otherwise don’t start anything else. Thank fuck. "They just love to talk shit. They can’t do anything and they know it. Wankers.” 

"Alright," Louis puts his hands on his hips. "What did they want though? I mean it seemed more than serious; they were ready to beat you up. What language were they speaking? What did they say? Sounded like gibberish to me.” He tries to joke but it flatlines. 

Harry gives a shrug, turning and patting the high stool that Louis was previous sat on. "Let’s talk about something else. I told you it’s awkward between all of us. But nothing to worry about for you, seriously, it’s fine. Everyone was bullied once in their life, innit? I’m used to it by now and so bloody over it." 

“It shouldn’t be like that,” Louis shakes his head, his eyebrows stitching together, not okay with Harry dismissing their unbelievable behaviour just like that. “This is bullshit, Harry.” 

“Don’t I know…” Harry’s chest lifts with a grand inhale and falls with a long exhale. “It’s nothing, I promise. They are just bad tempered when they drink.” 

Louis considers the boy for a moment, wanting to push but sensing it would lead nowhere. Harry seems okay though, no tears, no wounds, or anything else. He looks worn out and tired, as if he has just accepted their behaviour like that. It’s none of Louis’ business in any way as that guy had said, but he doesn’t like what he saw nor does he understand those people’s problems either. 

"Fine," Louis sighs, giving up too and hopping onto the stool and swinging his legs. He folds his hands in his lap and watches Harry turn his back to the group and lean his forearms on the bar’s surface, his face set in a serious mask.

There is a moment of silence between them and Louis begins tapping to the beat of the song on his thigh, not knowing how to move on from this, how to change it, what to say to make it better. 

"They don’t get it," Harry blurts out out of nowhere. 

Louis lifts his eyebrows taken aback."They just don’t fucking  _ get it _ and it’s not  _ my _ fault.”

"I don’t get it either, mate, c’mon don’t talk in riddles. Maybe I could help?" 

Harry sighs and shifts his backbone to the bar, glancing around with crossed arms. Louis too checks behind himself but nobody is looking their way. Harry must notice this too because he relaxes his shoulders and smiles at Louis, although tight-lipped. "Thanks, but you can’t help. Still nice of you to offer. It’s not a crime to be an arsehole and that is kind of their main issue these days at least.” Before Louis can ask again what this means, Harry carries on with a quick spoken, “Anyway, another drink?" 

Louis nods mutely, and Harry returns the motion. 

The night goes on, weird incidences not forgotten but also not dug up again. 

Instead, they dive headfirst into the consuming topic of music that was brought up when a  _ Beatles’ _ song came on and both Harry and Louis lit up like two fucking Christmas trees, singing along to the lyrics by heart. 

He learns that Harry not only plays the guitar but also is a huge  _ Nirvana _ fan, which is brilliant because Louis loves them too. Not to the same extent, but he still enjoys their music. Harry elucidates to him how he discovered  _ Nirvana _ when he was around sixteen by pure chance and from there on it was a true love story, his passion for Kurt Cobain only growing. Because he didn’t (and still doesn’t) have a ton of friends, having found a mate in Kurt, idolising him and his song writing, he didn’t feel quite as lonely any longer. 

All during his talk, Harry speaks animatedly with wild hand gestures, his green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and life as if to make it clear with his entire body just how much he adores Cobain. It’s more than entertaining to watch and it’s the happiest Louis has seen him all night. 

“Sorry,” Harry scrubs a hand over his face, blinking at him with slow flutters of his lashes, a self-conscious smile bringing a rosy colour to his cheekbones. “I’m just really into them. I talk way, way too much I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, no it’s alright,” Louis gaze hung onto Harry’s lips like a starved man, and honestly hearing Harry talk about his idol is fascinating. He has never met anyone who is so invested in any celebrity's life, well... Niall, obviously, but that doesn’t count. Louis can’t even bring himself to make a joke about Harry loving  _ Nirvana _ because it’s all so genuine and heartfelt while he teases Niall nonstop about Mendes.

“Good, alright, okay…” Harry releases a grand exhale. He comes a bit closer, one of his arms stretching the length of the counter and touching Louis’ side. 

However, Louis only notices how just how fucking close they actually are when the barkeeper asks if they’d like another drink. His knees that dug into Harry’s thighs earlier from their sitting and standing positions don’t do that anymore, because subconsciously Louis must have parted his legs slightly to allow Harry to stand in the space between them without even realising he did so. His heart flutters weakly in his chest, and if he’d lift his arm and point his finger, he’d be touching Harry’s stomach. He clears his throat, adjusting himself on the hard, uncomfortable stool. 

Harry looks at him with raised eyebrows and questioning eyes and for a second Louis is scared he might have noticed Louis’ slight surprise, but then he glances to the side to the woman with a friendly awaiting face and it dawns on him. Yeah sure, alright. He nods because he doesn’t want this night to end just yet and they order another round. 

"I’d say when we’re done with these,” Harry taps his fingernail against his tall cocktail glass, “we go someplace else." 

Louis’ hand freezes mid-air as he reached to take a sip. "Where do you wanna go?" he asks, putting it back on the counter. 

"Oh, I might know the right spot," Harry smirks lopsidedly, waggling his brows mischievously as he brings his glass to his lips. 

"Alright, don’t be cheeky now and say, ' _ your bed _ '," Louis rolls his eyes, returning Harry’s smirk, nonetheless.

Harry, who just took a sip of his drink, chokes. Louis laughs as the other boy coughs in his fist, his bulging eyes staring aghast at Louis as if he had suggested:  _ 'Hey my neighbour has a cat, let's kill it, haha.' _

"That’s not what I had in mind," Harry says with a rough voice as he calms down, still patting his own chest. 

"Well, alright," Louis says, glancing to the side with an awkward feeling that he might be more absorbed into this whole thing already than Harry. Maybe he isn’t even gay, maybe he is looking for a friend, and now Louis has made it awkward for the both of them. 

"Hey," Harry says, putting a hand on Louis’ knee to gain —  _ successfully _ — his attention. "It’s not like I wouldn’t like that, you know? I just…" he scrunches his nose, which makes him seem more boyish and young, "I’m not that type of person.” Okay, Louis can’t tell what that means and something in his expression must have given his feelings away because Harry continues, a bit rushed after a beat of music filling the pause, “I mean I’m not into one night stands that much, you know? Nothing wrong with one night stands of course! I’m just saying, it’s, like, not my personal thing and — ah fuck I’m sorry..." He bites his lip and rolls his head around his neck, exposing his pale long neck and the hollow of his throat. He shudders a breath. "Sorry that is super awkward, I made it awkward." He chuckles nervously at himself and flashes a wobbly smile at Louis, squeezing his knee with light fingers. "I’m not good at talking, I should just stop…" he rambles on and swallows, rubbing below his nose. "In general I’m not very good with people, dunno…I mostly keep to myself. Not really used to...whatever. I’ll just stop now okay. Should I go die in that corner now? Yep okay.”

_ Jesus this boy _ …it’s refreshing, actually, hearing Harry stumble over his words in an innocent rush as if he has never endured a human encounter before. 

“Harry,” Louis says with a breathy laugh as Harry makes an attempt to walk away, catching his hand and tugging him effortlessly back into place. Harry’s cheeks are beet red and his hand is clammy in Louis’. “Don’t stress yourself. It’s all good yeah? It was a  _ joke _ .” 

Harry breathes out in relief and brushes through his curls. "I don’t go out a lot. I’m sorry.” 

"It’s a shame," Louis bobs his head, smiling, hoping it will lighten the mood. 

It takes a while, but Harry relaxes back into his normal self, keeping his fingers tangled with Louis’ and once they have finished their drinks, the awkward fog has lifted completely and the mood is lighthearted and happy.

When they step outside, Harry is in a row, telling awful jokes as Louis giggles, his mind dizzy. Somehow no joke is awful enough to stop the flow of laughter that flees Louis’ parted lips. 

Harry trips, catching himself on Louis’ shoulders and they both stagger for a few metres before they find their footing again, laughing once more into the peaceful night. 

"Fucking hell…" Harry breathes, falling into step with Louis. "I haven’t been drinking for  _ ages _ . I feel like I’m on a cloud right now. I missed this feeling." He lets his head fall backwards, coming to a stand and blinking at the full moon above. "Isn’t it beautiful?" he asks, glancing briefly at Louis before staring at the moon once more. "I love the full moon, it’s my favourite time of the month." 

Louis, too, looks up at the dark blue-dipped sky, a huge smile forming loosely on his lips as he takes it all in. "I get that. It’s poetic. I love it too." 

Harry hums before he throws a bright smile at Louis, taking a step towards him, his eyes flickering to Louis’ lips. 

This is it, Louis thinks. They are going to kiss, it’s happening. Oh. 

He definitely wouldn’t mind — wouldn’t mind  _ one bit. _ Louis swallows thickly around nothing, thinking again,  _ this is it _ . 

His heart races in its cage as tingles spread over his bare skin. Harry is now very close, so close that he can feel his warm breath on his face. Louis doesn’t know what to do, can’t look anywhere else but Harry’s eyes, which gleam at him like two little jade gemstones. His mind races over whether he should make the first move and just do it, the unbearable tension causing his stomach to swoop.  _ This is it _ . 

Harry wraps Louis into a crushing hug, his long arms winding around Louis’ waist. For a moment Louis is frozen in place, his arms limp by his sides, hands balling into fists. Harry’s curls tickle his cheek and slowly he reciprocates the embrace too, hugging Harry just as fiercely tight. 

Harry nuzzles his neck with the tip of his nose and Louis giggles breathlessly, keeping very still. 

"What are you doing?" His whisper is barely audible. 

"Hugging you.” 

"I can tell, but—" 

" _ Shh… _ " 

All right, Louis holds Harry, his hand stoking over Harry’s shirt. Under his fingertips he can feel the outline of his ribs and the bony knots of his spine. It causes Louis to frown, having already noted that Harry is kind of tiny — though he is tall — he looks lanky and just like he isn’t eating enough, his collarbones sharp where they peek out of his loose neckline. Louis doesn’t want to worry about a boy he just met but — 

Harry withdraws, taking a step backward and smiling at Louis like he is in a haze. It’s probably the alcohol. 

"Oh, I get it now," Louis chuckles, eyes flitting over Harry’s moonlit, silvery face, "you’re a cuddly drunk. That’s what you are, yeah." 

"You caught me," Harry drawls, “alcohol turns me into a teddy bear.” He grins at Louis’ tender giggle and starts strolling down the street. 

As they walk, they fall into a comfortable silence, their steps matching and their breathing even. Louis gets out a cigarette, offering the packet to Harry, who smiles gratefully and takes one. They stop as Louis lights both of their fags before continuing their ambling. 

Nicotine mixes with the alcohol and Louis feels the sky very near, as if he could just wrap the endless dark blue around his shoulders like a cozy summer blanket, take it with him to bed, and fall asleep with it engulfing his body and mind. He loves this exact moment, savouring it as the serene atmosphere follows them along the pavement. All he wants is to bottle it up - this night, this feeling, the way Harry smiles at him - and put it in a small jar so he can take it with him wherever he goes and know it’s packed safely under his arm. 

A bottled night. Louis giggles. Harry raises his eyebrows at him in question. 

"What?"

"Nothing." 

" _ What? _ "

" _ Nothing _ ." Louis grins and throws his cigarette in the next best rubbish bin. "Catch me if you can," he calls to Harry and dashes ahead, shooting forward like a lightning bolt. 

Harry is hot on his heels and since Louis stumbles and nearly kisses the ground, catches up with him sooner than Louis would have liked and is gone into the night. Louis pushes himself faster as he runs after Harry. 

They are both a giggling, huffing mess as they reach the street light and Harry stops, spinning around and flopping onto the hard ground, staring up at Louis, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

"I can’t anymore," he pants, folding his arms over his face. "I’ll just sleep here." 

"You can’t, not yet. I was promised another cool spot." 

"Right." 

Louis helps Harry up and they leave the town behind, turning onto an empty road that will lead to Louis’ house eventually. 

They walk for so long that Louis’ first guess is that Harry has lied to him and he is bringing Louis home, that this very cool spot is actually Louis’ bed and his bashfulness was nothing but an act. 

They do get off the road and onto the path that is the way to Jay’s house, but just as Louis opens his mouth to ask what's up, Harry takes a turn and guides them deeper into the forest. 

"Are you going to murder me out here?" Louis asks, catching up with Harry’s long legs.

"That’d end our fun though," Harry says. "It’s not far away anymore. Don’t worry." 

Louis hears it before he sees it, since the trees are closing in on them and it’s really fucking dark, tree crowns shutting out the moonlight. 

They pass by a river, which leads them to a wonderful lake that reflects the lights of the stars above and Louis gasps at the sight. 

"I didn’t know," Louis says, looking at Harry in awe. "This is amazing." 

"It is, isn’t it?" 

Harry flops down by the shore and stretches his legs into a V-shape. He looks up at Louis and pats the spot by his side. 

Louis sits cross-legged, glancing at Harry who stares at the small lake. In his eyes is far away kind of look and Louis lets him be, doesn’t want to pull him out of the groundless sea of thoughts. Instead, he gets another cigarette out, lights it, and brings his free hand onto the grass behind his back to support his upper body weight. He too looks out at the lake and exhales out of his nostrils, grey fogging his vision. 

"I used to come here all the time," Harry mumbles and sniffs. He sits up, drawing his legs to his chest and looping his arms around them. He hooks his chin on his kneecaps, and his loose curls hide his face from Louis. 

"Used to?" Louis whispers his question. It seems that they aren’t allowed to speak louder. It would break the calm vibe surrounding them. A grasshopper lands on his shoe; he smiles down at it and watches it hop off into the grass and then it is gone. He brings his eyes back to Harry. 

"Yeah, I used to sneak out of the house and just come here and sit all night, watching the water. It was kind of calming. It isn’t a secret lake or anything like that, but it felt as if it was my personal secret coming here and just being away from everything for a while. I don’t know." Harry glances at him briefly and scrubs a hand across his face. "It’s silly. I don’t wanna get all sad on you now, on top of everything else. Sorry." He throws another careful glance at Louis, along with a delicate ghost of a smile. 

"It’s not stupid," Louis says, the corner of his mouth tugging faintly downward, "I just don’t understand. Why can’t you come here anymore?" 

Harry shrugs and doesn’t answer. After a few minutes of no words being spoken, Louis gets that Harry doesn’t want to tell him and drops it, as he has done most of this night.

It’s just...there are some wondrous things about Harry. For one thing, all of the people at the pub seem to know him and yet not like him very much. Louis can’t find one good reason as to why they would dislike him, let alone stir up such a strong, negative reaction. The other thing is what Harry has told him: he doesn’t like people much, yet goes to a pub; he uses past tense with some things as if they belong in a past life, yet Harry is at the lake currently without any presentable issue whatsoever; he likes music, but doesn’t play his guitar any longer - why, Louis hasn’t found out. Harry’s mind seems to be a complicated, tangled place. 

There is an aura of sadness surrounding Harry and it tugs at his heart. Nobody deserves to have such a lingering sadness. The hatred from other people seems misplaced because all Harry has shown him is that he is quite a decent, witty person and Louis is usually right about that. After all, that is why he took a liking to Niall right away, sensing there was not one ill-natured bone in his body as the first thing Niall ever said to him was offering a half-full bottle of strong Irish whiskey with the words  _ ‘it’s gonna be a wild time, let’s start it right, mate,’ _ when Louis opened the door to their shared dorm room — and Louis was correct. It was proven from time to time, again and again, what a good friend Niall is and how big his lucky Irish heart is.

Louis sighs. He misses Niall. He, too, would be confused about why people are in Harry’s face. He definitely would like Harry. Louis just has that feeling. 

He supposes he could be wrong too, since a person can pretend for a night to be someone else. That has happened in the past as well, mostly when romance was involved. In that category, Louis is sometimes blinded. His mum has always told him that he falls too fast, gets attached too easily. Is that a bad thing though? To love with an open, inviting heart? Yet, ironically enough, out of all his friends and family, he is the only one left, single and alone. 

_ Fuck it, _ he shakes his head, closing his eyes doing so, because lets not step down that ladder and get lost in that hole of  _ 'why am I single?'  _ since he is currently sitting with a great guy in the middle of nature in front of a lake whilst it is full moon - how much more does he want? It’s perfect. 

He brings his cigarette back to his lips and inhales profoundly, letting the smoke rounden his lungs. He exhales out of the corner of his mouth, casting the grey fumes into the sky. 

"Are you mad?" Harry asks, glancing at Louis over his shoulder. 

Louis blinks taken aback and shakes his head with stitched-together eyebrows. " _ No way, _ c’mon now…" he says, pointedly, trapping his cig and patting Harry’s back shortly. "Never…" 

Harry nods, his gaze never leaving Louis’ face. "Okay," he says at last with a shallow exhale, "that’s good, sorry. I really don’t want to ruin the night with my melodramatic nonsense." 

"You haven’t and you won’t," Louis shrugs, closing one eye. He guesses it’s funny that Harry is worried about that now, when they are finally alone without having to fear someone else coming their way and spitting in their faces. 

"Tell me more about yourself," Harry says, turning his body fully towards Louis, "and may I have another?" He points to Louis’ alight cigarette. 

Louis nods getting one out and handing it over along with his pink lighter. "There isn’t all that much to know about me. I study music, I live in Bristol, my life is good. I can’t complain about anything," he frowns. "Well, there is one thing, but maybe that’s just me," he shrugs and continues, "see, my mum remarried and Matt — her husband — is…" he trails off, taking a finishing drag before killing the cigarette on the ground. He takes a bit more time than needed, then puts the used filter in his packet. "He is…not my kind of guy, you know? I don’t understand why she’s with him but she says he makes her happy so who am I to complain, innit?" 

Harry bobs his head. "I get that. You’re her son, so automatically no man is good enough for her. That’s sweet." 

Louis rolls his eyes. "I’m not really  _ protective _ of her. I’m  _ happy _ she’s married again, it’s just some bad vibe I get from him with all his talk about what women and men should be working as…he comes across a bit of a dickhead." 

Harry chuckles around the butt of his fag. "I mean," he says with a pressed voice as he holds the smoke inside his chest. "He doesn’t seem  _ too _ bad. Let him talk, it’s not like it’s going to affect you." 

"You talk like you know him," Louis frowns. 

The other boy blinks rapidly at him, then a frown takes over his features. "No I don’t, just like...from what you have told me, I mean…" he fumbles, averts his gaze and takes a quick inhale of smoke. 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah, he seems like…I guess…—" He breathes out and fists his curls. "I’m just saying that he is born in another generation. It used to be like that, women do this, men do that." He ends his rambling with a helpless shrug and wrinkles his nose at Louis. "Sorry, I don’t make any sense, do I?" 

"You make sense. He is like ten years older than my mother, so maybe that’s why she isn’t bothered by it." 

"Is he mean to you?" Harry asks in a soft voice. 

Louis stares at him intensely, his gut giving a tug. "You mean abusive?" Harry flinches at the word but recovers quickly, casting his eyes down towards the ground and shrugging fragilely, nodding. "No, he’s not. He just…not a man I’d like to spend more time together with, and…" Louis huffs, "here I am complaining about my  _ stepdad _ ." He half-laughs, flustered.

"I like that. Getting to know you, I mean," Harry rasps. "I like hearing you talk. I like your voice." 

Louis clears his throat and pulls on his white collar. "Thanks…I guess?" 

"Shouldn’t I have said that?" 

"No, it's fine. You’re so honest, it’s…something else, that’s all." Yep, Niall would definitely like Harry. He is the same, always kind of speaking the truth and that too is something Louis adores about his best friend - zero bullshit tolerance, that is, bold and awesome by nature. "Keep it rolling, please, I like it." 

"Okay," Harry says with a slow smile, "I will." 

“What about your parents, eh? I’m sure everyone has something to complain about them.” Louis goes for a smile but it wavers before vanishing completely as Harry’s own curl of lips drops. 

“There isn’t much to say about them. I don’t want to bore you with it. They…” Harry rubs beneath his nose, clearing his airways, “they’re...uh, sick.” His gaze darts in the other direction as he says the word, his shoulders hunching forward. 

“Oh,” Louis exhales, his heart hurting for the boy, “sick?” he asks with a careful, gentle voice, considering Harry’s side profile. 

“Yeah just...sick, I don’t really know what to say.” He scratches his arm, still not looking at Louis. “It’s not like a physical illness, it’s just hard on all of us.”

“I can imagine,” Louis whispers. Harry gives him a tiny smile, which loosens the rope around his chest a bit, but not by much. 

For a long moment the silence hangs awkwardly between them, as if the words themselves have built an invisible wall up. Louis’ fingers tingle with the urge to reach out and hug Harry as the boy had done earlier, but judging by Harry’s curled position, it wouldn’t be the best idea. 

“Sorry, this is bullshit,” Harry groans, shielding his face from Louis even as he peeks through the gaps of his fingers. “I am a train wreck. It’s not that  _ bad _ , I’m being dramatic. Tell me something else about you or ask me something.” 

"It’s not bullshit, don’t worry. If you’d like to talk about it, I’m here yeah?”

Harry’s shoulders loosen as he uncovers his face. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

Silence. 

Lingering, awful silence. Louis wants to wave that fog away, to return to the pleasant atmosphere from before.

“Okay," Louis’ eyes flicker heavenward, searching for a topic that is more pleasant than Matt’s thoughts about jobs and the very transparently sore subject of Harry’s parents. Oh he just might— "You play guitar, yeah? Did you have classes or did you teach yourself via YouTube?" 

Harry raises his brows, and he takes another suck of his nearly burned down cigarette. "Uh, a friend taught me, actually." 

"So you  _ do _ have friends," Louis says, lightening up. 

"Well," Harry clears his throat with difficulty, "uh, yeah." 

"Where is he then?" 

"He… — he died." Harry swallows and stumps out his fag. 

The words hit Louis like a truck and he could have slapped himself if he had only known. When the shock wears off, sadness overcomes Louis’ heart and he, too, swallows forcefully. 

"I’m…I’m sorry, Harry," he mumbles, his hand reaching out of its own accord to squeeze Harry’s hand where it lays in the space on the grass between their bodies. He can’t postpone seeking contact when the boy next to him seemed to have endured such tragedy early on in his life. 

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his lids, and shakes his head. "Yeah, it’s whatever you know? That’s why I kind of avoid this lake too. It wasn’t only my spot; it was his too." 

"What’s his name?" Louis asks hesitantly. 

"Johnny. He was my best and only friend. He taught me guitar and yeah…it’s whatever. He is in a better place now, away from all this  _ bullshit _ and this  _ bullshit _ town." He smiles tightly at Louis and interlocks their fingers. 

"He is," Louis agrees and swallows the question of how he died down, saving it for another time or, looking at Harry’s saddened expression, never would work too. 

"After his death I kept playing because it reminded me of him, and now I’m way better than him," he says and chuckles. 

Louis laughs tenderly, too. 

"I think he'd like you though," Harry adds after they fall into silence. 

Louis’ eyebrows raise in surprise, and he thumbs over Harry’s hand. "Yeah?" 

Harry nods. “For sure.”

"That’s… that’s nice to know."

After that, they sit and stare out at the lake. The somber mood vanishes and is replaced by a delicate feeling that flounces in the air with a gust of wind, enclosing them in a bubble of companionship. 

At some point a bit later, Harry lays down, using Louis’ thigh as pillow and as if on instinct Louis’ hand sneaks its way into the softness of Harry’s curls, running his fingers through it. It’s soothing to both of them. 

Louis has never experienced anything quite like this night: meeting someone and having this kind of intimacy with them, sharing so much out of their hearts and seeking contact. It’s not odd at all, though when Harry first creeped closer to him, Louis didn’t know what to make out of it. When Harry laid down his cheek, he thought it’d be weird yet it feels like the most natural thing in this world, sitting by a lake and petting someone’s head who he has only met twice in his life and so far every meeting has been a rollercoaster. 

Glancing at Harry, his heart gives in even more so as he sees that the boy has his eyelids closed and through his parted lips escape little breaths of air. He plays with a curl by Harry’s ear and twists it around his index, tugging gently. "Are you going to fall asleep on me?" he whispers, hovering over Harry’s side profile. 

"No…but this feels really good. It’s lovely, keep going." 

Louis smiles and continues caressing Harry’s head. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, his mind turning into a hazy veil as they sit unmoving by the water. Birds have come out of their nests already, chirping at dawn their morning song, but Louis can’t find it within himself to get up and let this night come to a close. He isn’t ready to give it up just yet. His bottled night is not only caught in an invisible jar but etched onto his heart. No matter what happens tomorrow, next week or in a year, Louis knows he is going to remember today with fondness and a yearning to sit at this lake and toy with Harry’s hair. 

The boy sighs out of his nose and lets his dark lashes flutter open, rolling onto his side and looking up at Louis with a knackered smile, his dimples shadows on his milky skin. 

"Hi," he whispers. 

"Hi," Louis reciprocates with an equally low voice. He holds very still as Harry reaches out his finger and taps Louis’ nose as if in childish fascination. Louis widens his smile and tugs on a single curl, playful. 

Harry’s gaze darts to the sky and he sighs. "The night is almost over." 

Louis pouts at that and Harry pouts right back, his green eyes fulgurating to Louis’ lips, resting on them. It sparks a little light aflame inside of him and the longer Harry looks at him like that, the more the possibility unfolds itself in his drunken brain that maybe the moment has come and Harry wouldn’t mind if Louis leaned down just a bit and sealed their lips? Would he recoil? After everything, would it be a dick move? Does Harry want to? What if — 

He never gets to make a choice in the end, because Harry sighs and pushes himself up into a sitting position. "I’ll walk you home, c’mon." 

* * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew, a long chapter! I hope you liked it, thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> kudos and comments are very much appreciated <3 
> 
> see you next Thursday, have a great weekend! x


	3. CHAPTER THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weird events start happening and Louis can't, by all means, figure out what is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! 
> 
> I'm sorry, I know I said I'm going to upload Thursdays but time just rushed by and here we are. I'm so surprised and touched by all of your comments, messages and the amount of kudos my little fic has received. Thank you guys so much for reading, it really means so much to me!! 
> 
> Enjoy!! :) x

*** * * **

"Louis?" 

He groans. "Gimme a min…hm…" 

"_ Uhm _, Louis, darling…" 

Slowly, he blinks his eyelashes open and startles hard, seeing his mother’s face hovering over his, ringed by incandescent sunlight. Instantly, he shuts his eyelids again and moans weakly. 

Geez_ …what the fuck? _

"Can you please explain to me what you’re doing outside?" she asks. 

"Outside…" Louis flutters his lashes open anew and yep, _ yep _ — the image above is the same: his mother’s face, sunlight, and blue sky. _ Jesus _ . He sits up carefully. Indeed, there is no denying it; his bum is planted on wet grass. Again, _ what the fuck? _It takes a moment for him to let the situation sink in. It doesn’t feel too good at the bottom of his belly. 

His mind spins, still a haze of alcohol and fading memories. The bright light isn’t doing him any favours. He frowns, dazed, and holds his head between his hands, feeling that it’s too heavy for his nape to hold upright on its own. A swirl of nausea sets his stomach reeling as he shuts his eyelids tightly yet again. A pitiful groan escapes his lips as he tastes dead, cold smoke clinging to his fuzzy tongue. 

"Yes, did you sleep _ outside _?" her voice gets higher at the end of her sentence and it sends a shot of pain through his pulsing brain. 

"_ Please _ , keep your voice _ down _, mum…" He had thought the hangover was bad after his last celebration with Niall, but that was nothing in comparison to this. Every inch of his body hurts, as if someone has driven over him with a lorry - several times. 

"How much did you drink? Did you pass out here? In our garden? _ Louis? _" 

Scrubbing his hand over his cheek, he cups his chin. "I don’t know…"

Honestly, he has no idea what went on. He tries to go back in time and summon the last thing he can get a grasp of in his mind, but his mother’s voice fussing over him pulls him out of it and the vague memories slip away. He comes up empty, blinking rapidly. 

"You better go upstairs and lay down before Matt sees you like this. What will he think of you?" 

Louis barely catches his snarky remark of _ 'who cares?' _before it leaves his mouth and stands up with difficulty, staggering. His legs didn’t get the memo and give in, causing him to sag to the side. 

His mother gasps audibly. 

"How much did you drink? Don’t you know your limits by now?" She puts a stabilising hand on his shoulder, concern twisting her mouth downward. 

"Please…please, slow down, mum," he moans, not knowing what to say. He can’t even figure out what happened himself. He’s too tired, too intoxicated. This is worse than Lottie’s eighteens birthday bash. Much worse. Ruffling his matted hair, he gives her a weak, wobbly smile. "I’ll just go upstairs and out of your way, okay? Don’t worry." He drags his limbs off the lawn and into the house, being extra careful to avoid the living room as he hears noises that must be Matt watching something on the telly. 

The world swims in front of his eyes and he stumbles on the stairs. Somehow, he makes it in one piece to his bedroom and without further investigation, throws himself onto his bed. It doesn’t take a split-second for sleep to catch up with him and he doesn’t protest one bit as he is dragged down under. 

* * * 

Around noon Louis awakes once more, languidly. Thankfully, this time he is in his bed and not underneath the blue fucking sky. Rolling onto his side, he stares at his desk without really taking notice of it and touches the soft flesh of his bottom lip with his index, tracing the line and pinching it, his eyebrows furrowing at the pain. His head still feels up in the clouds, fuzzy and wrapped in cotton although he knows he didn’t have _ that _ much to drink, right? Fuck tropical, sugary cocktails. Never, ever again. 

The alcohol still circulating in his bloodstream adds to his overall exhaustion from his previous eventful night. 

In his hungover state it’s hard to concentrate, his thoughts a muffled buzz in the background. Memories float through the blank space, flashing and abating into nothingness, too quick for him to catch and analyse. 

It takes a long while for him to find enough energy to gather the pieces of what went on. 

The first question and the most disorientating is: how could he have woken up in the garden when all he can recall is Harry walking him home, hugging him at the doorstep, telling him that despite everything he had a great time, and Louis acquiescing with Harry’s tenderly spoken statement. After another moment spent in the dark, Louis had been compelled to say his final goodbye to the boy and had watched him cross the driveway before shutting the door softly and tiptoeing up the stairs, his heart filled with the promise that they will see each other soon, very soon at that.

He stretches with a whine that turns into a yawn and stares blankly at the ceiling. It holds no answers for him. At least he isn’t the only one who doesn’t know what’s up. Though it should know, it watched over him. Perhaps it was asleep. 

Louis is _ convinced _ he went straight to bed directly, didn’t even brush his teeth only kicked off his shoes and wiggled out of his jeans. Looking down at himself, he frowns. His memory cannot be correct either — his legs are wrapped in fabric and even his shoes are still tied on his feet — although he absolutely _ hates _ sleeping in skinny jeans. It sits wrong with him, deeply, deeply wrong. How did he not notice this earlier? 

The last thing that he can remember is falling asleep cozy and drunk with a tingling in his belly that the previous night was his favourite night out ever. Louis had fallen asleep with dead bones, feeling happy — very happy, indeed. 

Why in the Lord's name would he walk downstairs for anything other than a glass of water? Why would his drunken mind come to the conclusion that sleeping outdoors on the hard ground alone would be a better option than staying on his mattress and sleeping until afternoon? 

Nevertheless, somehow it came to existence. He woke up outside, fully dressed in last night's clothes. 

It’s frustrating. And scary. 

Groaning, he massages his forehead. This sucks. It feels like he’s fifteen again, like the one night out with his boys that had ended with him being pissed out of his mind and getting an earful the next morning as he arrived home, stumbling through the door and collapsing on the ground. He is pretty sure that he threw up that night, but it was a blur. Drinking booze wasn’t the issue for his mother - she mostly finds his misery funny - but she was upset by the fact that his phone was shut off so she didn’t know if something had happened to him. He had lost himself to vodka and the young foolish desire to be cool, to be a part of a group that hangs around school courtyards at midnight. Trying to impress the lads around him, he had gulped it straight down his throat. He can’t dig up a lot from that night, but he knows he promised his mother it would _ never _ happen again. Well, he broke it a short while later as he had his first taste of Jack Daniels, but by that time he was smart enough to sleep over at a friend’s place and only returned when it was safe that he was sober and remembered his name and location. He couldn’t stand neither Jack Daniel’s nor vodka from then on. 

He rolls his eyes and groans. It was a mistake, resulting in his vision blurring and his mind swirling brilliant, fucking brilliant, that. This day couldn’t start any _ better _, he muses with shut eyes, only blinking his lashes open once it feels safe to do so. 

He sits up and shakes his shoulders out, rotating them until his joints pop. 

An uneasy feeling tugs on his gut, but he frowns it away. It’s whatever, maybe he was just that kind of blackout drunk, who knows? Perhaps in that state of mind he had the sudden urge to dress himself, go to the river and watch the sunset. What other explanation is there? Nothing. He can’t think of anything better than that. 

It’s not that deep, Louis guesses, leaving it at that because all this rushed thinking adds pain to his growing headache. He is no Sherlock Holmes anyway. He brushes his hair off his tense forehead and yawns into the crook of his elbow, his skin warming as his reeking breath fans over it. 

He drags himself to the bathroom, undresses, and turns on the shower, waiting as the water becomes soothingly hot, fogging up the mirror. 

The water wakes him up real good, bringing the numbness that had been a constant sensation from sleep out of his limbs and bones. He scrubs sticky sweat off his skin until it’s flushed red. He is no hurry to get out of the warmth and therefore takes his sweet time. He shampoos his hair, running his fingers through it and is faintly reminded of how he did that to Harry yesterday. Harry, a boy he has met twice in his life and to whom he feels closer to somehow than his ex-boyfriend, who never cared for touches so simple and sweet like these. When his thoughts wander to comparing Harry to his ex, he stops and tugs on his earlobe — he is not going there because they just met and _ let's slow it down what the heck. _ Besides, there are so many things he doesn’t know about this boy that are just odd, so there is that, too. 

Once he has rinsed his hair and fresh smelling foam and bubbles have disappeared in the drain, he towels his body dry and stares at his reflection in the mirror. What he sees isn’t pleasant. He looks like the walking dead, his skin tomato red from his shower but pale around the edges of his cheeks, his eyes rimmed with dark circles from the booze and lack of sleep, but — leaning closer to the mirror, he can see something in his pupils that wasn’t there before, a glint which he can’t identify. 

Perhaps yesterday did more for his mind than just having a remarkable evening with a 'stranger'. Maybe he needed going out and getting shitfaced to feel like a human being, a young man, again. Well, to his defence, it's been a week of being stuck in a house in the middle of nowhere without internet and therefore lack of entertainment. He deserved drinking until dawn, if he did say so himself. 

Maybe they will meet next Friday and repeat the night, preferably minus the weird encounters with people and not getting _ as _ drunk so he will actually stay in bed and not decide to go on a strange walk in the middle of the night. Louis sees himself frown in the mirror and turns away. Shutting off the light in the bathroom, he tiptoes to his room and lets his towel drop to the ground as he closes the door behind him. He stretches whilst shuffling to his closet and picking out denim shorts and a mustard yellow shirt. 

Completely dressed, he lays onto the bed and folds his hands on his chest, staring at the ceiling. Exhaustion is tugging on his bones, rebounding, probably thinking its safe to do so now. Because he has turned the water off and is back on the mattress, now it’s taking its chances on him. Closing his eyelids, he allows himself another ten minutes of sweet slumber, just ten, nothing more - that is all he wants, really…

Ten minutes become twenty and suddenly half an hour has passed when he wakes up from his totally _ lets-close-my-eyes-for-a-second _ kind of nap. It’s fine. He prefers sleeping; thinking can wait. 

He only brings himself to drag his body down to the kitchen because his stomach is growling angrily at him, displeased about being ignored for hours on end. The alcohol has increased his appetite and if he doesn’t get something between his teeth in a minute, he will faint and die. It’s how it works. At least, that’s what it feels like. 

In the kitchen, his mother is already preparing supper and glances at him before turning back to the task at hand. 

"Slept well?" she asks with an undertone Louis chooses to ignore. Her smirk is just rubbing his misery into his face. He doesn’t like it. 

He hops on the breakfast bar stool and beds his cheek in his palm as he watches his mother work, the radio adding a soothing background noise. 

"Hm," he muses.

"Did you at least have a nice time?" she asks over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows at him. 

"Actually, yeah," he smiles, Harry’s face swimming in front of his inner eye. "I did." 

"Oh? So, do tell…" 

"I met this guy. He’s a bit younger than me? Dunno, actually," he wrinkles his nose and stops. He has no idea what to say about Harry, to his mother at least. "We had a great time together. He’s funny without trying to be. His expressions are funnier than his jokes, dunno." 

"Oh that’s lovely, I’m happy that you had a nice time, then. I was a bit worried sending you off like that…" she trails off and frowns at the salmon on the worktop. "I mean, I’m still your mother." 

It’s funny how she sometimes says, _ 'I’m your mother,' _as if Louis doesn’t know that fact. Instead of a sarcastic reply, he bites his tongue and smiles sleepily at her when she gives him another curious glance. 

"Are you hungry? Dinner will take some time, but we bought peanut butter today." 

Right, food. 

"Nice," Louis hops off the stool and goes to make some tea and a peanut butter jam sammy. When it’s all done, he sits down on his previous seat and finishes his breakfast-lunch-snack in less than a minute, his stomach already hungry for more the moment he takes the last bite. 

Jay and Louis make more small talk to pass the time. She asks him questions about Harry here and there, which she brings up in a very motherly secretive yet unsubtle way; he catches her every single time and merely smiles. 

When she brings up the topic again of him sleeping out in the garden, he shrugs and lies that his room was too sticky to sleep in and therefore he chose to spend the night beneath the open sky. She huffs but lets it drop and Louis breathes a sigh of relief. His heart clenches, knowing she would never let it go if she found out the truth. 

Supper starts smoothly. The salmon is delicious and the chatter is quiet, his headache having subsided after his sandwich. However, shortly after that he gets involved in a talk about politics with Matt, which brings agitation over their lovely meal. The heated discussion only stops when his mother clears her throat and sends him a pointed look. Matt tells him off too because what does a twenty year old boy know about…_ anything _ really, nothing, the youth is clueless. _ Clueless _. Louis just shrugs and finishes his plate. Pick your battles and all, he knows he won’t change Matt’s mind the same way Matt won’t change his, no matter how hard he tries. At least the conversation takes a turn for the better and everything goes back to being comfortable as his mother talks with Matt about his business, which always puts his stepdad in a splendid mood. 

Louis excuses himself quickly though and goes back upstairs, guessing it’s safer to leave them to talk in private about it. This way, there is no chance that he will get dragged into the conversation. There are only so many times he can bite his tongue and honestly by this point it’s already bitten raw and hurting. 

The night comes crashing over the house without him noticing, much of the day having slipped past him.

Louis sits on his bed under the glow of his nightstand lamp, strumming his guitar and trying to perfect changing chords. His thumb is mostly in the way and the cause of his groans of frustration. When Niall picks the strings and switches chords, he makes it look so easy. Reality check: it isn’t. Niall is just one skilled bastard. 

Once he has strummed the melody of _ five o five _ by _ Arctic Monkeys _without messing up and the clock tells him it’s okay to stop practicing, he puts the guitar aside and checks his social media accounts, liking a few pictures on Instagram and re-tweeting a funny post on Twitter. When it gets repetitive and he has watched every dog video that he came across on his dash, he switches to his messages. He replies to a picture his sister sent him of her on the beach, a piece of seaweed sticking to her nose, smiling sadly. This time around, he isn’t jealous that she’s having a good time because he kind of is too now. He just wishes that she could be here with him. Then he answers Niall, who had a bad blackout night as well. Niall goes into details of how he threw up his dinner all over the floor and horrified Hannah so badly that she wanted to take him to the hospital, thinking he had alcohol poisoning. Sure enough, this offended Niall deeply and he lets Louis know in a row of quick short messages, every single text punctuated with the Irish flag emoji. 

Waiting for another message from his best mate unleashes exhaustion anew and Louis falls asleep just as his phone vibrates in his hand, Niall’s guitar taking up most of the space on his bed. 

* * *

There are few things in life that are confusing, like math for example. Louis never has been really good at that. Or realising that you aren’t like your fellow classmates and don’t care about girls much, or getting a text from an unknown number at three in the morning when your brain has already switched to sleep mode and you forgot that you gave your number to this one guy at the bar who bought you a drink and had a cute smile. Somehow Louis has always figured it out in the end and was able to shake off the feeling of not knowing what is going on, except with math. To this day, math is still a source of confusion for him. 

However, never in his life has he been as confused as when he woke up in a place he didn’t fall asleep at. This time he can’t even reason with himself that alcohol is at fault because yesterday he didn’t consume a single drop. 

He gasps, eyes skimming over the lawn, his brain still drunk on sleep. _ Again _ he can’t recall waking up in the middle of the night for a walk down to the river, but here he is, disoriented out of his mind whilst birds in tree crowns chirp their usual morning song, his pounding heart adding to their tweeted melody. It might be the soundtrack to his very own horror movie. 

He takes a moment to get his breathing under control as fear ties a rope around his throat, causing it to constrict. It’s too much to handle. His vision blurs around the edges as he dares to have another look around. Rubbing his knuckles over his closed eyes, he shakes his head and ruffles his hair. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening — _ what is even happening? _

His muscles are stiff and sore, and his neck gives a crack as he rolls his head from side to side — all evidence that he has spent quite some time on the hard ground. Fuck. Just — _ fuck. _

Trying to go back in time he comes up with nothing, only recalling faintly that he texted Niall and after that draws a blank. _ Nada _. 

He gazes over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. The house stands innocently behind him. Before his mother gets a chance to catch him outside once more, he heaves himself upward and staggers over to the terrace door. 

If he can’t explain this situation to himself he surely can’t draw an explanation out of his arse at this time of day that would make complete sense and not sound concerning to his dear mother.

That being a steady reminder in the back of his mind, he is extra quiet sneaking up the stairs to his room. Once he has shut the door behind him, he releases a tremulous breath, his fingers jittery and his knees wobbling with each step he takes towards his unmade bed. It looks just like he left it as he went to sleep the previous night, his guitar still taking up most of the space and his phone lying near the edge of the mattress. 

He sits down and holds his head in his hands, staring through the gap at his socked feet and rubbing his toes against each other. 

Should he be concerned or simply shrug it off? It’s not like he has ever experienced this before. He blacked out just like that. _ Bam _. His thoughts wander to the worst: having brain damage or a brain disease that he doesn’t know of. Before his mind can travel even further to the possibility that it is cancer and jump to panic mode, there is a feeling nagging in his gut that tells him otherwise. 

Louis swallows, his brows stitching together. He has never sleep-walked in his life, doesn’t know anyone who ever did, nor does he know a lot about it, but he is _ pretty _ certain that is what occurred, innit? It _ has _ to be it… 

Sighing through his nose, he gets up and fetches his cigarettes, going onto the balcony for a smoke, hoping it will lift the fog that is hanging over his mind and suffocating him. 

The garden below him is uninhabited and the air is fresh. He hasn’t checked the time but he can take a good guess by looking at the sky, figuring it’s around eight in the morning. He lights his cigarette, cupping it as he clicks the lighter to shield it from the wind, which is must stronger up here than down by the river. 

The first suck of nicotine brings some calmness to his bones as he traps the smoke inside his body, leaning his forearms onto the cold steel railing and closing his eyes. When he opens his mouth to set the fumes free, it dries out his throat. 

The more he thinks about it, the clearer it seems that he must have sleep-walked and that is no less scary than his drunken blackout when Harry walked him home. Is this something that just _ happens _ to people? Like they are good one night and the next they take a walk? Is it something like being brainwashed by… well, he doesn’t know that, but he has seen movies where something like a spell takes over one’s body and leads them on a nightly hike. Some even climb onto the roof and he once heard you should never wake a sleepwalking person because it could end badly, with them jumping into their death and such. That’s where his mind-blowing knowledge ends and of course he learned it from nothing else but watching thrillers and horror movies. 

_ Movies aren’t reality though, _he reminds his in panicked, beating heart. 

His cigarette is finished, but he isn’t ready to go back indoors. 

His mother must be up by now, Louis takes a guess based on the clattering sounds coming from downstairs as she is probably preparing breakfast. 

Louis can’t face her. She would know right away that something is up and question him until he caved into the pressure. He can’t do that. 

That’s why he lights another cigarette and stays on the balcony until the morning sun is hidden in the clouds and the wind has picked up so much it’s tearing at his clothes and causing a shiver to run along his arms, neck, and spine. 

Instead of going down for breakfast, he puts on his sport clothes, deciding that it’s best to take his mind off everything for a while. 

The run kind of does him good and sort of doesn’t. A run is always good and always bad. The good thing is you are running, the bad thing is, well… you’re bloody running. 

However, today it is therapeutic, the even pattern of his soles hitting the dusty road, nothing but green nature enclosing him whilst his brain is numbed by the heavy metal blasting in his eardrums. His muscles protest when he switches from jogging to sprinting until his chest balloons and sweat is dripping from his hairline. He feels disgusting from head to toe, so much that even the spaces between his toes are sweating, dampening his socks. His shirt is sticking to his skin by the time he reaches the end. 

When he lays eyes upon his mum’s house, a sinking feeling erupts in his stomach and undoes the effort he made to forget everything for a while. 

He halts in the driveway, putting his hands on his hips as he stares up at it with dread in his gut. 

Fuck it. He refuses to be scared of a _ house _ — it has done _ nothing _ . It’s _ him _ that is messed up. 

After a shower and much stalling, he finally gives into the urge that built as he shampooed his hair and goes to check on Google what is up with sleepwalking, steadfastly ignoring his mother’s voice in his head berating him for using the website as _ go-to-doctor. _ She has always told him not to, since Google likes to play things up and some patients will become sure they are suffering one and a million different diseases because Google told them so and they demanded to see a doctor right away and caused a scene in the waiting area, even though it turned out not to be serious. 

Anyway, Louis won’t drive himself to any hospital and won’t see any doctor, therefore he will eat up whatever Google spits out. That sounds logical enough. 

Here goes nothing, Louis thinks, reading a little box at the top just below the search bar. 

It states: _ "Common triggers for sleepwalking include sleep deprivation, sedative agents (including alcohol), febrile illnesses, and certain medications. The sleepwalking rate is higher in children than adults." _

Well, that doesn’t explain a whole lot now does it? 

Louis hasn’t taken any kind of drugs and isn’t taking any medication. He didn’t even swallow an aspirin and to top it off he didn’t have alcohol yesterday. He isn’t under a lot of stress since well, he is on a freaking break for fuck’s sake and was nearly dying of boredom on Friday— which means, _ what exactly? _ He simply started sleepwalking _ just like that? _

_ Well, shit. _

Louis is at a loss. If Google can’t help him…it looks bad, right? He has become too used to having Google as his backup over the years. It has definitely assisted him to write his essays in Music’s History, and it saved him from asking his mother embarrassing questions about either cooking or cleaning. 

It’s laughable, but he isn’t laughing, can’t find a bit of humour in his bones as he stares at his mobile display. 

_ Fuck. This. _

Throwing his phone on the nightstand, he gives it an evil glower for good measure before breaking. 

Frustration so strong he might choke on it overcomes him as his shoulders hunch in defeat and he weakly groans in his palms. It’s a pathetic sound even to his own two ears.

Okay, all right. Louis pitches the bridge of his nose, trying to control his thoughts, which have run amok. 

_ What if _ he’s lucky and it won’t happen another time? _ What if _ it was the aftermath of his night drinking with Harry? _ What if _one of those fucked up people were angry enough to put something in his drink? 

He blinks. 

_ Huh _. 

That could be it. 

He adds it to the growing list of possibilities and nods curtly to himself. 

One time is fine, two times is odd, and by three it will reach a high level of concern - if it occurs again. That would leave no other option than confessing to his mother, _ but _ until that comes around he won’t say a word. For now, he crosses his fingers that he, indeed, was drugged. 

By the time he is composed enough to show himself to his family without fearing they will take notice, his mother has already left home. Checking the remaining rooms on the ground level, he can’t find Matt either. 

Returning to the kitchen, his tense shoulders relax and a sigh of relief pushes past his parted lips. 

His gurgling stomach coaxes him to fix himself a bowl of cereal before he sits alone at the kitchen island. He devours his breakfast in no time.

* * * 

"You’re rather quiet today," his mother notes around afternoon. Since Matt is having some kind of business meeting, they had the chance to have some alone time. They chose to watch a movie, which works perfectly for Louis because it takes off the edge a tad and it’s easy to get lost in the plot of the drama playing on screen. So far it has worked wonders for him, but his mother’s question pulls him out of it. 

He tenses without meaning to, glancing from the telly to Jay briefly. He gives her a fragile, non-telling shrug and as a lump forms in his throat, he resists the urge to itch his Adam apple.

After his solitary breakfast, he couldn’t quite leave it alone, thinking and rethinking about the points on his mental list of possibilities. He had been trying to figure out without Google’s help what had taken place, but it doesn’t matter, he comes up with the same old explanations over and over again: either he was drugged or randomly started sleepwalking. That’s it. The other remaining options, sickness and brain damage, he cancelled out guessing that there would be other symptoms acting up and playing into the entire thing as well.

"Is something on your mind?" she probes further, going as far as pausing the movie. 

Louis sighs. There are too many things battling for the attention of his mind, not only his mysterious night walk but also his night out at the pub with Harry. He can’t stop thinking about the little moments shared between them at the lake, what had been said, and what Harry confessed. Not to mention the way Harry pressed his cheek to his thigh or smiled at him softly after their final parting hug, which then circulates back to the total blank space after that. 

But he can’t tell his mother any of these thoughts, now can he? Like how would he even bring it up in a casual way that doesn’t immediately stir concern in his mother? 

Like…_ ‘Listen, this guy I told you about, yeah? Well it seems the whole town is against him for an unknown reason and I don’t know for sure, but there is either the possibility that one of them has drugged me or well, you know, I have started to sleepwalk and wake up outside without recalling anything. But hey, like don’t freak out, I’m sure it’s nothing. Let’s finish the movie, haha.’ _

Surely that will ease her mind. _ Uh-huh _.

"There is, isn’t there?"

"No nothing, really," he mumbles, averting his eyes to the blue blanket that his grandma had given him as a present for his birthday a year before she had passed away. "I’m just knackered, I guess…" 

His mother considers him for a moment, her gaze hot on his side profile. His neck prickles with fear that she will pry more into it and he isn’t certain he is strong enough to withhold if she does. It’d be a relief to share his worries, but also selfish to do so. However, thankfully it doesn’t get to this point because — to his sheer surprise — she drops it and lets the movie play on screen again, the characters’ voices floating around the living room. 

They watch for a while in silence and just when Louis relaxes into the couch, stretching his legs and propping his naked feet up on the coffee table, she opens and closes her mouth. He looks at her with raised brows and she smiles in return, but it’s weak and her eyes flicker nervously over his face. Perhaps he isn’t the only one with troubling thoughts corrupting his mind. 

"Is it because of Matt?" 

Wait. _What?_

"What?" he asks out loud, caught off guard. He frowns, pinching the blanket near his knee. 

"Your mood…did something happen between you two? Something I don’t know about? Did he say something?" 

"Say something about…what exactly?" Louis rasps, a rope tying around his heart, squeezing it violently.

She shrugs a shoulder, glancing away before back at him. "I don’t know, but I can tell that you guys are…not really…friendly towards each other." 

"Mum…" he starts with a whiney voice, directing his gaze to the high ceiling. Louis would rather talk about his night adventures than Matt, because he has some things to say about this guy and they aren’t pretty. But does he really want to hurt his mother? Of course not. That is why he gathers every single emotion he has towards his new stepfather and puts them in a box that he pushes into a tiny corner of his brain, labelled _ 'open for another time, preferably never, thanks,' _and looks at her, giving her a shrug. He does what any decent son would do, he half-lies: "It’s all good. We don’t know each other, that’s it. I mean he has some strong opinions about stuff, it’ll just take a while to get used to." 

"I love him very much, Louis." 

He nods, staring at the telly screen. "I know that."

"He’s a good man." 

Gosh, she is making it hard, isn’t she? What is she playing at? Rolling his eyes and biting the inside of his cheek, he inhales with his nose and sucks the air into his belly. He nods a few faint times as if his neck were broken, hoping she will let it go, but this time he isn’t as lucky and she continues. 

"He provides for me, and this house — I always wanted to live in an old house with a long history, you know that don’t you?" Yes, Louis does know that. It was her marvelous fantasy and whilst growing up, she told him bedtime stories about a house where lots of people had lived for centuries and a little boy — Louis, he guesses — went to discover it, and each person would tell him a story, a story about their life and why they loved the house. So each night Jay spun a new tale about a new personality who had lived in that house and Louis absolutely adored it. He still does. It’s a fond memory. "And he made that possible for me. He wanted a modern house with all those tech-knick-knacks," she huffs, still not a fan of modern technology, "but no, he chose to make my dream come true." 

Louis can’t hold his tongue any longer. "So you love him because he bought you this house?" he deadpans.

She frowns deeply at him as if he has offended her - honestly, he probably did. Shit. Should have just sewn through his tongue. "Of course not, silly! I love him because he respects me." 

Okay yeah no, there is no returning now, is there? 

Louis can’t keep it together and snorts at her piss poor explanation. "I don’t think he respects _ any _ woman, mum." 

"So you do have things to say about him!" she exclaims, adjusting her position on the sofa so that she has a better angle to glare at him from. "Go on, _ please _. Enlighten me." 

"Fine," Louis glowers at her just as fiercely. "The way he talks _ pisses _ me _ off _ , he’s such a _ know-it-all _ but he doesn’t know shit." 

"Language, Louis," she tuts. 

"Sorry…" he mumbles absently, calming down from his outburst, "I just don’t understand what you see in him, that’s all." He shrugs and crosses his arms, pouting at the telly screen. 

"We laugh a lot, he has a great sense of humour, and he just…Louis — I won’t get any younger. At your age it’s easy to fall in love with a million different people. At my age…well, I have to look out for myself. I don’t want to be a nurse when I’m sixty." 

"So it’s all about the money…” Louis says and because he can’t help himself, he adds, “again." 

"Mark was different, you know that. I was in a tight spot, a single mum with two children and he was there and took great care of us, didn’t he?" 

Louis shrugs like a defiant child, though he has to admit that she is right about that. Mark was a good guy, although he was working all the time, he financed Louis’ piano lessons with a smile on his face as if it were the greatest gift for Mark to be able to see and hear him play. It was nice to be supported even though his mother and Mark didn’t last long. Back when they were still an exclusive couple, he already knew that there wasn’t much love between them. He might have loved her, but she…not so much. And that is something Louis doesn’t like nor understand about his mother: being with someone just for their money. When he first met Matt, a man with a well running car workshop business that was slowly growing and spreading all over Britain, he can’t lie that his thoughts didn’t wander directly to his mother’s money issues - which only exist because she has a tiny, eh, spending issue. 

"He did," she says in a hiss, pulling him out of his thoughts, interpreting his silence as disagreement, "and so does Matt. I love him though, there is the difference. He makes me laugh and his opinions aren’t _ that _ bad. He’s older than I am, hun. Everyone his age thinks like that. Just because you spend all your time on the internet and are used to fresh opinions from people your age doesn’t mean reality looks like that." 

Are they fighting? Louis blinks at her. They definitely are, aren’t they? 

"Okay," he says, backtracking slightly, "I’m just saying. You quit your job at the hospital to move all the way out here and…what is your plan exactly? Staying at home?" 

"I’ll be Matt’s secretary. That way I can manage my time better. I think I’ll work mornings and have some free time to take care of the household in the afternoon, but it’s not set in stone." 

"You’ve never been the stay-at-home type of person, ma."

She had started working right after Louis was born and he was told that he spent a lot of his early years at the hospital, becoming the favourite of many of Jay’s coworkers. When Lottie followed him and expanded their family two years later, they both played together and with others in the baby-care at the hospital. Her boss told her to take some time off, but she refused, needing the money and hating the thought of being a single stay-at-home mum. 

"Things change and working as a nurse is hard. I don’t like coming home with back pain and swollen feet every day and night shifts take a troll on you, hun."

Louis sighs, the last bit of fight leaving him. "I understand." 

"Maybe Matt and you can spend some…alone time together, get to know each other. Oh — how about a fishing trip? There is a lake not far from here." 

Louis smiles at the memory of the lake, which is kind of a mistake because his mother thinks it’s the idea that puts a smile on his face and lightens up. 

"So, it’s settled. I’ll tell Matt when he gets home." 

His smile drops, but he doesn’t back out of it because at least it stopped their fight completely and the bad air between them has vanished. He can complain later to Niall or curse at Lottie for being in Spain instead of enduring the good old _ ‘let’s spend time with your new dad so you stop hating on him, see what an amazing guy he is, and we can be a real family’ _routine with him. 

They both turn back to the telly and watch the drama going on, this time on screen. 

* * *

Matt is more than joyful to hear Jay’s idea of fishing with Louis and they make plans to go to the lake next Sunday. Louis gives a meagre nod and keeps his head down and his mouth shut throughout supper that evening. He is quick to excuse himself to his bedroom shortly after he has finished his meal, which was quite yummy, actually. He will definitely miss home-cooked food when he returns to Bristol and takeaway is back on the daily menu. 

The evening drags on. Louis reads a few pages of the book Lottie lent him a long time ago and has to put it to the side because his attention dwells on other things. His eyes might scan the words written on the page, but he finds himself rereading the page twice in a row and still he didn’t know what happened. He isn’t much of a book nerd to begin with and this novel in particular is just not his cup of tea. 

Consequently, he ends up using all of his data to watch YouTube videos. He prays that the electrician responsible for the WiFi will come around this week so Louis isn’t as deserted out here as he currently feels, his laptop and phone useless for the first time in his life. 

The rest of his night is spent switching from laying in bed and staring at the ceiling to going onto the balcony and chain-smoking. 

It starts to drizzle a bit, but Louis doesn’t mind. He actually enjoys the faint rain on his skin. He closes his eyes and welcomes the harsh breeze that tears through his hair. When he is done, he stubs out his cigarette in his makeshift ashtray, that is actually an old cup that he found in the far back corner of a kitchen cabinet. 

It’s two in the morning when Louis goes to the bathroom for his nightly routine, although he wants to stay up longer and perhaps never close his eyes ever again out of fear of waking up someplace else. 

He is dead on his feet and his eyelids keep dropping as he stares blankly at the tiled bathroom wall. Exhaustion engulfs him completely and brushing his teeth becomes the hardest task ever, his arm heavy and stiff. 

He glances at himself in the mirror, white foam covering his mouth and his green toothbrush sticking out of the side of his lips, causing his bottom lip to be pulled down a bit and reveal his teeth. He drags his gaze over his pale skin, to the dark rings that are now permanently underneath his eyes and to his tangled hair that is sticking up in all directions. Fuck…he can’t lie, he resembles death itself. 

He spits foam into the washbasin and splashes warm water on his face, slapping his cheeks a bit. Perhaps he can cheat sleep and win one or two more hours of wakefulness. 

He straightens his spine and towels his face dry. Louis blinks, his shoulders stiffening as his eyes drag slowly, carefully back to his reflection, fixating on a spot in the corner. He is pretty sure that he just saw a movement behind him, a shadow behind the shower curtain. 

Suddenly alert, he reaches a cautious hand out to the side, his heart hammering in his chest as he pulls back said shower curtain — exposing absolutely nothing. He blinks owlishly. 

Well, what did he expect to see? Someone hiding behi— 

The light bulb flickers and Louis grits his teeth, looking up with a deep frown. It flickers again and then, just when he was about to shrug to himself and leave, it gives a crackle and shuts off completely, sudden darkness surrounding him in the windowless bathroom. 

Okay, what now? 

His heart pounds strongly, and he grips the rim of the sink so harshly that his fingers cramp. Swallowing, he turns his back on the mirror and leans his bum at the washbasin for support, his knees jelly-like. 

Blinking around the pitch black space, he tries to control his breathing, currently coming out in fast puffs. He reaches out to slap the light switch blindly, but the bathroom lamp doesn’t turn on. 

A breeze by his ear causes his head snap to the side. He hears it. His heart flatlines — the shower curtains rustle slightly. Before he knows what he is doing, his instincts take over, the urge to escape strong. He jumps forward, yanking on the door handle madly and nearly falling out of the bathroom as he trips over nothing and in his haste nearly collides with the opposite wall. 

"Woah, easy there," Matt grunts, catching Louis’ shoulders. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost, son." He pats his back friendly as Louis tries to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling. "You okay?"

"I…I…I — eh…" he stutters, inhaling deeply. Looking at Matt’s half-confused-half-concerned face, he gathers himself and sighs breathily, "I think the light bulb is done." Yep that was it. That _ must _ have been it. 

Matt nods, slowly, still holding onto Louis’ shoulders with a hard grip, his fingernails boring into his skin to the point that it hurts. Louis shakes his hands off him and retreats out of reach. Matt’s hands fall to his sides. 

"I’ll check it out and fix it, don’t worry," he says, eyeing Louis. "I can show you how you change a light bulb tomorrow, if you’d like. It always comes in handy, don’t you think, son?" 

Louis nods, his heart now calming to an even beat. 

"Why aren’t you in bed?" Matt asks, then. 

"I was going to…" Louis frowns, stopping, "why aren’t you?" 

"I heard a noise," Matt shrugs, looking down the hallway before shifting back to him, "wanted to check it out. It was probably you rummaging around the bathroom, though. Go to bed soon, it’s late. No wonder you’re always tired during the day, wandering around the house at this hour at night." He shakes his head, mutters a goodnight to Louis, and goes back to his shared bedroom with Jay. 

Louis needs another second to collect himself. Looking back into the dark bathroom, he shakes off the feeling that he is being watched and does what he has been told, returning to the safety of his bedroom and releasing a big breath. 

What the fuck _ was _ that? Had he really freaked out because a _ light bulb _ went out? _ Jesus Christ _, how ridiculous is he? It feels like every little thing has the power to send him off a cliff these days. 

He slips onto the mattress with still quivering limbs, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Louis pulls his blanket to his shoulders with a stubborn face. It’s all because he mulled too much over what happened after leaving the pub and now he is paranoid. That must it be, nothing more nothing less, just something that resulted from too many tangled thoughts. 

Still, he finds it hard to fall asleep, hearing faint noises coming from outside which keep waking him up just before he loses sense of reality. He hears a door open, but his head is too heavy for him to check what’s up. Not even a second later, Louis is out like the damn light bulb in the bathroom and is dragged into a profound sleep. 

* * * 

_ No _. 

_ No, fuck, no, no. _

Louis stares at the clouded sky above, his back hurting, his muscles stiff, and his heart beating violently in his chest. 

_ Not again. Not again… _

Sitting up slowly, he cups his cheeks, squeezing the life out of them as his throat tightens and a dry defeated sob heaves his chest. 

_ What the fuck _ is _ happening? Why _ is _ this happening? _

He has woken up outside again and there is no other way around it — he _ fucking knows _ he fell asleep in his bed, tucked underneath a comfy blanket. _ Obviously, _ he can’t recall taking another of those night walks, yet here he is, unmistakably out in the open, on the spot of grass by the river — the very _ same _ place he woke up the other two times, too. 

Louis closes his eyes with a trembling exhale, his fist colliding with his forehead rapidly. It hurts; he welcomes it. 

"Pull yourself together," he murmurs with a thickly layered voice, tugging on his hair in pure frustration as his gaze wanders over the lawn, over the river, over the sky. He swallows. 

This cannot be happening, not to him. 

But it is. That is the reality. 

He gets up and stalks to the house, this time not trying to be quiet as he marches up the stairs. 

"Louis?" his mother asks, dressed in a morning robe. She closes the bedroom door softly behind her and stares at him with wide, shocked eyes. "You’re up early. Are you okay?" 

"Fine," he snaps without meaning to, wiping the side of his underarm over his wet eyes, "just _ fucking _ fine." 

"_ Louis! _" 

"Sorry, just…" he turns his head in the other direction and massages his closed eyelids. Hot tears spill over before he has time to stop them and gather his emotions. He has no energy to hold it back though, exhaustion weighing him down like rocks in his bones. 

"Honey…" she sighs quietly, pulling him into an awkward side hug and patting his back. "What’s the matter?" 

He embraces her and nuzzles his cold nose into her warm neck, finding a bit of comfort in the familiar scent that accompanied him throughout his childhood. He breathes out enormously as more tears leak out and dampen her silky robe, leaving dark spots on the pastel pink. "I had a bad night, mum. A _ really, really _god-awful night." 

“Did you have a nightmare?" 

Louis huffs and pulls out of their hug, scrubbing a shaky hand over half his face. He wishes it was a nightmare, but still he nods meagerly.

"Oh dear," Jay gasps, aghast. "Are they starting again? Have you been watching those horrifying movies again?" 

_ Right _ . He had night terrors as a child because his best friend had locked him in his room and played _ The Exorcist. _That freaky girl had haunted him for years in his dreams. Eventually he - of course - grew out of it and he hasn’t had a nightmare so real ever since. He still avoids that movie though, knowing that it would trigger nightmares so gruesome that Louis wouldn’t be able to tell if it was reality or a dream at all, etching fear beneath his skin. 

"Yeah, yeah I think so,” he lies. “I haven’t watched it but Niall and I had a..." He stops, not knowing how to continue, so he ends it with a shrug. "It’s silly, I’m sorry. I’ll just…go back to bed, I guess." He fakes a yawn that his mother doesn’t buy into.

She gives him a long look but thankfully drops it at last. "I can make us some tea," she says with a motherly tone, her voice soft “You can join me while I’m preparing brekkie?” 

"Later…all right? I just…" - _ need to have one moment to myself to fucking think - _ “need to have a catnap, dunno. I’m sorry for worrying you. It’s fine. _ Just a dream. All in my head _ . I know. _ Not real. Never happened. Demons don’t exist. _” He taps his forehead as he recites his mother’s words that she used to say to him every morning when he would wake up sweating and screaming, terrified that someone will get him now too, like that girl. 

"Alright. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs." 

Louis nods. He feels her eyes on his back all the way to his bedroom. 

* * * 

Louis doesn’t get it. That’s the problem. No matter how many times he goes over it, there is nothing to cling to, no piece of memory besides him falling asleep. Clearly he’s overlooking a detail, a detail that will trigger his brain to spit out a plausible answer that eventually will lead to revealing the truth. Deep down in his gut, he knows he is missing something. _ Something _...

He has been sitting on the balcony for the entire day, sitting, staring, trying to figure it out. All it has done is cause him a head-splitting headache and lots of frustration. 

Louis heard noises, so there is that. But again, it was probably Matt wandering the halls for whatever reason, the same goes for the sound of a door opening and closing. 

Did...Matt look inside his room? 

But what if it wasn’t Matt? 

Who else would it be though? Huh?

It has to be Matt. Well, or Jay obviously. 

Groaning, he massages his temples and lights a new cigarette. He lets the smoke travel down his airway, hoping it will smooth the knot in his stomach that has been sitting there since he went to his bedroom this morning and hasn’t untangled itself yet. It’s a steady reminder that something is disturbingly wrong. The fumes don’t help, just makes him more nauseous, his dry mouth tasting of ash and fear. Another thing that sparks concern in his bones is that his body is tired, so dead-tired as if he hadn’t gotten even a bit - not even an hour - of sleep. It leads him to believe that his _ 'sleepwalking' _ started the moment he _ thought _ he fell asleep. 

That opens the question — honestly it’s a never ending stream of questions — for how bloody long had he sauntered the grounds? Did he just flop down on the grass and sleep there? Unlikely. 

He sucks harshly on his fag, holding it between thumb and index finger, wishing it were a spliff. At least that would let him relax for a while and give him the benefit of thinking more clearly. 

_ Oh, fuck everything. _

* * * 

"Psst, Lou!" 

Louis blinks and rubs his knuckles over his eyes, blinking once more until the haze has zoomed out of his vision. He must have dozed off, his mind lethargic. 

“Louis! Hey!” 

Leaning forward and supporting his weight on his hands, he crawls from his spot on the balcony floor to the railing and peeks at the lawn through the gaps of steel. His eyebrows lift in mild surprise as gets a glimpse of Harry standing in the twilight, his hands on his hips and an effulgent grin on his face, pretty much blinding Louis even from the distance. 

"Hey there!" he calls, waving ebulliently.

Louis’ lips form a slow, slightly confused smile. "What are you doing here?" he calls back, trying to keep his voice quiet just in case his parents are nearby. He sees Harry shrug. Well alrighty, then. "I’ll let you in." 

With each step he takes down the stairs, his heart loops more and more in its home and by the time he reaches the door, he is out of breath. 

“Okay, okay,” he whispers to himself, brushing fussing fingers through his still unmade hair. If he had only known…gee, well he didn’t, and it’s too late to do anything about his appearance now, innit? “Chill,” he rolls his eyes and takes a final collecting breath, opening the door to a beaming Harry. He looks very much the same as Louis remembers, his head covered by angelic chestnut curls, his skin pale though his luminous green eyes make up for it, twinkling extra wonderfully in the setting sunlight. He is dressed in black, like he was on Friday, and Louis wonders how these kinds of clothes aren’t too warm for the summery weather that has been blessing them these last few days. 

"You don’t look so good," Harry says by way of greeting. His gaze narrows in concern, his shoulders hunching and smile dimming. 

"Why, thank you, man." Louis juts out his bottom lip, hating himself inwardly a tad more for not putting any effort whatsoever into the way he looks, seeing as Harry appears to have walked straight out of a movie screen. He checks over his shoulder, but they are alone. He faintly recalls Jay telling him that they were going out for dinner and him declining the offer to join them. Looking at how this evening turned out, he is more than relieved by his choice. “You look happy enough for the both of us.” It’s true and although his clothes haven’t changed, Harry’s mood seems to have recovered from their eventful night out. 

His smile returns, featuring his two dimples. Louis tries not to stare. “Uh-huh. Guess so.” 

“Great. Okay, let’s go upstairs, shall we?” 

In his bedroom, he closes the door and watches Harry flop down on his bed as if he is at home. It brings a small smile to his lips as he watches him bounce in place for a moment. 

"I was bored, thought it’d be nice to hang out." Harry speaks his words to the ceiling, stretching his long limbs, with a barely audible noise that comes from the inside of his chest. "Do you mind that I came by?" He squints at Louis, dipping his chin to his shoulder. 

"Of course not," Louis scoffs, coming to a stand by the bed. He shifts his weight. 

"I wanted to throw little rocks at your window," Harry confesses, sitting up and swinging his legs like a hyperactive child, his heels hitting the ground in an even clacking pattern, "like they do in the movies." 

Louis snorts, rubbing below his nose to hide the fondness that sweeps through his heart. "Cute. Thankfully you didn’t though - I’d look even worse with a black eye. Can you imagine?" 

"Yeah, well I couldn’t find any, so your eye is safe for now." Harry shrugs and stops swinging his legs abruptly. "_ So _ what’s up? Why are you looking all pale? You aren’t sick, are you?" 

Louis shakes his head and considers Harry for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth. Should he? Can he trust Harry? Well, Harry let his heart bleed in front of Louis the other night, and Louis feels safe with him, somehow knowing that Harry won’t laugh at him or call him a lunatic. Though he could be wrong about that… 

Harry lifts questioning eyebrows as Louis stands there, probably looking like an idiot. "Yeah?" 

"Well," Louis sighs, sitting cross legged on the floor, thinking this will go better down here than up there. "I…listen, this will sound totally crazy—" 

"Great, normal is boring. Tell me." Harry joins him on the floor, mimicking him and giving Louis his entire unwavering attention. His eyes like two green spotlights directed at Louis. It doesn’t make it easier. At all. Fuck. 

"I kind of…I don’t know what’s wrong…not wrong—" he rushes to say when Harry gives him a funny look, already opening his lips to reply, "I mean, wrong in a way, sure, but…" Why is this so hard? Nobody likes making a right tit out of themselves in front of a boy they actually want to impress, innit? Louis should be singing Harry a song, not telling him about his weird night adventures, but here we are. Fuck. Whatever. He shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. "Have you ever woken up in a place…where you didn’t go to sleep?" Louis starts again, feeling even more like a knob. He averts his eyes to the space between their parallel shins, cringing at himself inwardly. 

"Uh, no, actually…" Harry drawls slowly, his voice deep and comforting. "Why? Have you?" 

"Lately," Louis gives a defenceless shrug, wrinkling his nose at Harry. "I think I might be sleepwalking." 

"Spooky," Harry says, widening his eyes with the word and wiggling his fingers, demonstrating total spookiness...or magic, or _ something _. 

"Shut up, I’m being serious here." 

Harry sighs and leans back on his palms, starting to wiggle his foot. "I know, I’m just saying, sleepwalking is scary, therefore…" 

"Well, what do you think?" Louis urges, hoping that Harry will come up with some logical explanation that he hasn’t yet, so he can put this whole affair behind him. 

Harry shrugs, gazing at a spot beyond Louis’ shoulder. It takes a moment for him to answer, and when he does all fun is wiped from his expression, leaving a serious mask behind. "You know...this house was built on a ground where they used to burn witches at the stake around 1500." 

Louis blinks, dumbfounded at best. "What?" He scratches the top of his head, frowning at Harry in utter confusion and not following one bit. "Alright, so? What has that got to do with anything?" 

Again, Harry gives a coy non-telling shrug. "Just saying…" 

"You _ just say _ a lot of things." 

Harry grins, dimples popping out and all. "Yeah, guess I do..." 

"So? You like spooky things, you’ve told me that," Louis mutters. He should have thought better of telling Harry about his worries. He isn’t a doctor. His heart sinks a few levels lower from disappointment. It would have been nice to get a sense of what is going on. “But what have burned witches to do with me sleepwalking? You’re just talking out of your arse.” 

"I might, I might not. They say this house is kind of…_ haunted _," Harry drawls, his eyes snapping to Louis’, his gaze piercing. "By those witches who were burned here and other...spirits." 

Louis takes in Harry, a sensation of goosebumps building on his skin as he holds his breath. He squints for a moment and Harry’s features sharpen as he observes Louis’ reaction. At last he exhales all of the air at once and huffs.

"Fuck, you’re so weird," he snorts a chuckle, shaking his head at himself for accepting Harry’s rubbish for even a split second, "and full of _ shit _. C’mon, don’t tell me you believe in that stuff." 

Harry pouts and wiggles his left boot, poking out beneath his stretching thigh. "In fact, I do. Loads of townspeople believe in it, too. I’m not the only one. Kids eat that shit up. They come here for Halloween every year, make a bonfire in the garden, and tell every one of the tales that go around about this house."

"_ Fuck off _…" Louis barks an incredulous laugh, his jaw slacking. 

Harry shoots him a foxy grin. "You shouldn’t read too much into it. I’d lock the door and call it a night." 

"What?" Louis’ eyebrows twitch bewildered. 

"You sleepwalking, just lock your door. If it’d make you feel safer, I can tie you to the bed?" 

A perplexed laugh bubbles out of Louis. "Yeah, sure. You’d like that I bet." 

"For your safety, Lou, think about it…" Harry’s eyes sparkle at him in pure amusement. "Give it a try." 

When Louis has calmed down, he kicks at Harry’s shin. "No thanks, I’ll pass." 

"Damn…" Harry faux-mumbles into his shoulder, fist-pumping the air in playful defeat. “Perhaps another time.” 

“I can’t take you for real,” Louis says, shaking his head at Harry. “Friday you nearly choked to death at my _ tiny _ sex joke and now look at you, wanting to tie me to my bed. Tsts, knew it was all an act, eh?” 

“I mean…” Harry draws the word out, casting his eyes down, “this is different.” He squints at Louis with one eye, the other clenched shut. “_ I’m _ the one _ making _ a joke, hence I _ know _ it is a joke.” 

“_ Uh-huh _,” Louis whistles. 

“What? You want me to piss myself again over a sex joke?” 

“Harry I swear to God, you’re making it so easy for me.” Louis catches his tongue between his teeth, watching as realisation dawns on Harry. The other boy groans dramatically as Louis emits another snicker at his bittersweet misery. 

Harry knocks his fist lightly against his forehead. “I told you, I won’t ever say another word in your presence. This is fucking embarrassing. _ Goodbye _.” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. If that’s your thing, you know, that’s your thing.” 

“Oh shut up,” Harry faux-grumbles, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the footrest of the bed. “I was drunk Friday, I was caught off guard. I don’t go out a lot. I only get my information about human encounters from movies, so you can’t blame me one bit.” 

“Sure,” Louis smirks. “Harry, it’s whatever. I told you before not to stress yourself too much.” He eyes Harry’s more or less blushing face. It’s so interesting to see Harry turning from pure confidence to a red-faced nonstop blushing and rambling, shy boy. 

“I won’t. It’s okay. I’m still...alive.” He grins around the last word, a sparkle in his eyes Louis can’t put a meaning behind. 

A silent moment passes where they just maintain eye contact, as if trying to figure each other out without having to ask another question that could lead to further humiliation on both ends. 

“Anyway,” Louis sighs, ruffling his hair and glancing to the side, still feeling green eyes on him. 

"But, Lou,” Harry speaks softly, “just stop thinking about this sleepwalking spooky nonsense. I’m sure fretting over it will only cause it to increase." 

Louis shrugs, his mood sobering as they return to the topic he started. "Hm, maybe you’re right." 

"I am.” Harry bobs his head, peering around the room before his eyes land on Louis. “Anyway, what were you up to before?" 

"Nothing…" Louis acknowledges, standing up on weak knees. "It’s _ that _ kind of day." 

"Well, alright, let's make it more fun, shall we?" 

* * *

It turns out Harry might love the cult band _ Nirvana, _ but he hasn’t heard of _ Arctic Monkeys. _ He just discovered them as he browsed Louis’ phone, which he had some difficulties with at the beginning, to Louis’ entertainment. 

When Louis threw it at him, telling him to pick a song, Harry had looked it at as if he had never seen an iPhone in his entire life. It amused Louis to no end. Louis at last lent him a hand, opening his music library because Spotify was out of the question due to him using up all of his data on YouTube. He doesn’t have premium offline streaming either, so it wasn’t in the picture still. 

However, Louis has his fair share of artists downloaded for emergencies like this - because he can only survive for so long without music - and he showed Harry a few. When Harry got the hang of scrolling and tapping on the screen — which again, is cute but confusing to Louis, having only ever seen his mother struggling with it — he obviously chose _ Nirvana _ to play first. After that, _ The Ramones _ blasted through the room and finally he looked up at Louis and asked, "What's _ Arctic Monkeys _?" 

Therefore, for a good hour they have been listening from their first album all the way to their last, skipping a few songs here and there. Overall Harry is absolutely loving it, if the expression colouring his face is anything to go by. He looks like a child on Christmas, his eyes full of wonder and happiness. 

Louis got them each a beer, which they nurse slowly whilst Alex Turner’s voice fills the easy silence in the bedroom. 

"They’re so sick," Harry says as the song _ Riot Van _ ends and _ Teddy Picker _ starts. "I love 'em!" 

"I still have no idea how you could have missed them," Louis says, taking a sip. “They’re like a huge deal.”

"Dunno…was caught up in life…I guess?" Harry gives even Louis an uncertain look, as if he’s asking him. 

"For like twelve years?" Louis chuckles, wiping his lips and putting the bottle on the nightstand. 

"Yeah, time flies and I kind of denied all music that was released after 1994. New music _ sucks _." 

"So you’re _ that _ kind of person," Louis teases, smiling at Harry, who is laying on his stomach whilst Louis is sitting with his back against the headrest. 

"What kind of person?" Harry pouts. 

"A music snob, only listening to one type of music and hating everything that isn’t considered _ 'oldies' _ or _ ‘classics’ _ or stuff nobody knows. Real _ indie _ and whatnot." 

"What kind of music do you like?" Harry drawls, bedding his cheek on his palm and blinking at Louis lazily. "We listened to _ Nirvana _ and _ The Ramones _ and if I remember correctly you knew the lyrics to _ Queen _by heart, so don’t be a hypocrite now." 

"I like all kinds of music, I’m not picky." He shrugs, folding his hands in his lap, swirling his thumbs around one another. 

"Yeah, okay, but who's your _ favourite _ though?" 

"Hm…" Louis sinks lower on the mattress, staring at the door. It’s a hard question, one he hates answering because in truth, he has no set-in-stone favourite. He loves_ Ed Sheeran _ but there is also _ Metallica _ , and he can jump from screaming voices to _ Bach _ without any trouble if the situation or the mood fits. "I don’t know, I swear to God. I study music for a reason, Harry. I like the music I like and I don’t like the music I don’t like, it’s the way it just is." 

Harry hums, playing absently with his bottom lip. A ring that Louis hadn’t noticed before gleams under the light of the lowering sun. "Well, what do you _ not _ like?" 

"_ The Shaggs, _ obviously," Louis says with an eye-roll. " _ Philosophy of the World _, c’mon — easy." He smiles smugly at Harry. 

"Kurt Cobain loved them," Harry pouts at him, his eyebrows pushed together, looking the perfect picture of a grumpy old man. 

"I know, that’s why I said it, duh." 

"_ Fuck off _," Harry says without any heat behind his words, although it’s pointed nonetheless and amuses Louis endlessly. 

"You’re easy to tease," Louis giggles, reaching out and tugging playfully on a loose curl that hangs by Harry’s nose. 

"Am not." Harry continues to pout and pretends to bite Louis’ fingertip. 

Louis flicks his nose in turn and they chuckle quietly, the air turning heavy, loaded with…something. 

Harry slips onto his knees, sitting back on his calves. "I should be going," he whispers. 

"Oh," Louis glances to the side, "if you must. I don’t want to keep you or anything." 

"Hey." 

Louis looks at Harry, who’s already smiling back at him.

"I had a really lovely time, thanks for showing me _ Art Monkeys. _" 

"_ Arctic Monkeys _," Louis corrects, causing Harry to blush a bit around his cheeks. 

"Yeah, yeah whatever," he huffs, his cheeks puffing out, "_ Arctic Monkeys, Art Monkeys _ s’all the same." He waves a dismissive hand in the air.

Louis snorts a laugh, nodding. “Alright, alright. If you say so, H.” Sobering, he adds, "Me, too though. I had a nice time, thanks for stopping by." 

"Anytime," 

They smile at each other and Louis’ heart flutters in his chest as Harry leans closer, his breath hitching in his throat as Harry’s lips touch his cheekbone. 

"See you," Harry grins before he hops off the bed and walks out, waving at Louis and closing the door. 

Louis releases a shaky breath, his fingers twitching in his lap. 

He is about to get up for another smoke when the door opens again and he halts his movement, his arm raised and all. 

Harry pokes his head back into the room. "And lock the door to keep the witches out," that fucker says, winking and shutting the door with a bang. 

Louis blinks, listening to Harry’s heavy footsteps going down the stairs. Then, the front door slams closed and Louis is officially alone. 

He snorts to himself at Harry’s warning and tousles his hair. 

_ Witches…this kid…seriously...pshh. _

And yet, this kid might be the one Louis is falling for. 

* * * 

_ Noises… _

A door opens and closes with a click. 

Louis presses his cheek further into the sheets, trying to relax his muscles to fall back into blackness and just when he gets to the point where his mind hangs in limbo, another sound erupts and he blinks his lashes open, confused and dizzy. 

He turns his head to the side and gasps mutely. 

A little girl is standing next to his bed, looking down at him. 

She smiles when she sees that he’s awake and extends her hand. 

It doesn’t take even a moment for him to accept it thoughtlessly. She helps him out of bed to a stand, and with their fingers interlocked they cross the room. She takes the lead, walking a tad ahead of him as he ambles groggily behind her, his head heavy and his body on autopilot as if a spell has overcome his limbs and turned him into a little puppet. No questions flow through his blank mind - not where they are going, who she is, what she wants. Louis just follows blindly, step by step his naked feet finding the ground somehow, his face directed straight ahead. 

They go down the hallway and he trails after her outside. Together they step towards the ramshackle grey brick barns that are set in silvery moonlight. 

She squeezes his hand and points at the barns, not saying a word. 

There is a nagging feeling in his gut that has never been there before and Louis’ mind comes out of it, the spell cracking, though not by much. Clinging to that small part that he thinks is reality, his brain starts forming thoughts that hang around like clouds filled with cottony questions. 

Louis wants to ask what she means, what she wants, why they are outside, if she’s the reason for all the other night walks and the cause for him waking up at the lawn, and if so why can he see her now. But his tongue lays useless, swollen and fuzzy, arid and glued to the roof of his mouth. Again the little girl with brown hair and huge eyes points to the barns. She looks up at him and then at the barn, telling him stories in another language with her intense gaze, but he doesn’t understand _ any _ of them; he doesn’t get _ any _ of it.

Her smile drops and the grip she has on his hand turns to icy steel. She lifts her arms straight forward and points directly at the barn, turning her unwavering gawp towards it. 

Louis sways on the heels of his feet, his hand hurting, his mind back to being dizzy as his brain shuts up. He stares at the barn until his bleary eyes are parched and burning. 

She stares. He stares. 

They don’t move another muscle. 

* * *

Louis awakens on the lawn below the open, grey, cloud-covered sky. His body is stiff as a board and rain is pouring down on him, soaking him, but the shock is rooted too deep in his bones for him to be able to do anything about it. 

He remembers. 

Holy shit. 

_ He remembers all of it. _

He remembers the little girl coming into his bedroom, taking his hand, leading him outside and pointing at the barn, her eyes turning from bright to lifeless as they stood in the cold, the wind tearing at their clothes. Louis was unable to move, her hand stronger than he ever expected a little girl to be, keeping him in place. 

Is this how he always ended up by the river? 

Frowning at the sky, he draws a blank. Everything after the girl showing him the barn is black, a hole in his memory. Had this happened before or was it a first? Why can he recall the event now but not the other times? What does she want? Why is this happening to him? 

The pain comes out of nowhere, hitting him in the guts. He writhes on the grass, holding his abdomen, his eyes clenched shut as a wave of nausea wracks his quivering shoulders. It’s mordant on his insides, as if someone has clicked a lighter and the flame is licking the walls of his stomach, setting him alight. He groans, the sound weak and swallowed by the patter of the heavy rain. Panic tightens his chest and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. His head starts pounding violently as he gasps in pain. The ball of biting nausea is creeping up his throat, choking him and he only has a second to heave himself upward and open his mouth. Hot vomit bubbles out, splashing onto the grass immediately. 

Sweat breaks out of his pores, pooling with rain on his neck, heating his skin along his hairline as a ripple of sickness washes over his shaking frame. He gags loudly and parts his lips widely, another load of liquidy puke hitting the ground. He winces at the acidic smell.

He gasps at the sheer agony, crying out as he is blinded by the sheer burning in his swirling stomach. If this is not his end, he doesn’t know what it is. It hurts. It hurts. He won’t make it. He can already smell death. It’s close, it’s close. 

As abrupt as it came, the pain is gone, leaving him a panting mess on the ground. He groans pathetically, falling onto his back, staring at the rainy sky and accepting the drops that wet his skin, his face, his hair. He can’t move for a long while. His muscles flex and relax, his head pounding. Louis waits, waits for it to come back, but it doesn’t. The rain falls. The sky darkens. But the pain doesn’t return. He takes a couple of calming breaths before sitting up slowly, again with a weak groan, and wiping his lips. He frowns at his hand, his eyebrows bumping together. 

_ What? _

He stares at the brownish liquid mixed with bile and spit on his palm. His eyes widen even further until panic is sitting like a buzzing knot in his chest and he lets out a hoarse, raw scream. 

Louis rubs it off on his pants hastily, his heart hammering in his head as he leans forward to examine what he _ thinks _ he saw. He wrinkles his nose in perplexed disgust as he gets a good glimpse of the puke that is soaking into the ground, his face ending up in a twisted grimace. It’s brown bile, okay, but that isn’t the main concern. There are pieces of _ earth, _ slimy amongst his vomit as if he had puked that up too. He really wants to believe it was already there before, and that he just vomited onto it, but a tiny part of his frightened brain whispers to him that it was probably not. 

Not wasting any more time, he scrambles off the ground, stumbling to the house and dashing up the stairs. Before his mum has a chance to catch him, he jogs to his room and slams the door shut, locking it and leaning so his back is pressed to the wood. 

Crushing pain zips from his head down his spine, and he can’t hold off the throaty moan that leaves his already parted lips. His legs give in under pressure, as if someone hit him with a hammer over the head and he falls to his knees. He holds the sides of his face with shaking hands, his vision blurring as his stomach rolls but no more vomit comes up his burning esophagus. 

He curls in on himself, looping his arms around his shins, and presses his nose between the caps of his knees. The throbbing is unbearable as if a flame inside of him is burning his flesh from the inside out. No longer can he suppress a scream of pain - he tries to muffle it, but it rings along with a white deafening noise in his head in his room. 

His body is quivering and sweating and by the time there are rapid, panicked knocks on his door Louis has already gone blind, his eyes wide open, blinking, yet seeing black. At that realisation, another ball of fear uncurls to buzz around his mind. 

He grinds his teeth, trying to relieve pain. He digs his fingernails into his arms, trying to concentrate on that instead of what is going on inside. It doesn’t do much and he gives up, clenching his lashes shut. 

The door handle is yanked down several times, but his body is too weak to stand and unlock the door. His mother’s voice is calling out to him, but his tongue is again swollen and heavy, useless though his mind is screaming for _ help, help, help. _

A rattling noise is near his perked ear, and rotten breath fans over his heated skin. The last thing he hears before the world goes out around him is a deeply disturbing voice hissing the words: _ 'You _ . _ You’ll end up like him… _'

* * * 

Louis has no other option left, but to tell the truth to the doctor with greyish hair who is looking at him with loaded concern over the rim of his black glasses. 

Matt, as it turns out, broke down Louis’ door and they drove him to the hospital right away. That is where Louis blinked open his eyes and since then is faced with fear, concern, nurses checking on him every half an hour, so many questions he has no solid answer to, and a clinical smell that sends him straight back to his childhood.

His mother is holding his hand as if he is dying and Matt sits stiffly next to her, staring down the doctor who in turn stares at Louis, waiting.

"I sleepwalk," Louis confesses after a long moment of his brain battling with itself. But if not now, when, innit? He is here and they won’t let him go until he tells them at least _ something _. "I don’t know about the pain though. Where it came from, I mean." 

His mother gasps at him. "_ You sleepwalk? Since when? When did this start? Why didn’t you tell me? _" 

Louis holds his breath, letting the rain of his mothers’ questions flow around the room and vanish unanswered. 

The doctor clicks his pen twice and scribbles a few words on a clipboard he is balancing on his thigh, nodding whilst doing so. 

"This started when exactly?" the doctor asks calmly, pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. 

"Hm, dunno, Friday night I think?" His voice is hoarse and his throat hurts with each spoken word, as if it were made of sandpaper. "Could I have some water, mum?" he asks, looking at her with puppy-like pleading eyes. 

She nods and flies out of the room, her panicked steps disappearing down the corridor. 

"I’ll get a coffee, son, let you talk to the doctor." Matt nods, reading Louis’ mind completely correctly and surprising him into a tiny smile. 

"Thanks," 

When the door closes behind Matt, the doctor - Louis thinks his name is Dr. Thompson, but the nametag is too far away to read and when the doctor introduced himself it kind of went in one of Louis’ ears and out the other - resumes his questions. 

"Friday night was the first time you sleepwalked?" the doctor asks and scribbles that down onto his notes. "It _ never _ occurred before?" 

Louis shakes his head. "Never, no." 

"Was there something that could have triggered it? Are you under a lot of stress currently? That’s a common cause." 

Again, Louis shakes his head. "I’m actually on break, so no stress…I also don’t take medication or have any illness…" he adds, figuring those would have been the doctor’s next questions. 

"Hm, yes that is the thing, Louis. We ran some tests on you and you are perfectly healthy. Your head seems to be fine and uninjured, and your mother has already listed everything that has happened to you since childhood." 

Louis cringes at that, but isn’t too surprised. 

The doctor smiles before he sighs, taking his glasses off and pressing the pads of his fingers to the inner corners of his eyes. "We are more than at a loss, I must admit."

"I had to throw up when I woke up. At first I thought it was from the panic because I—" he shuts up because he’d rather burn than tell the doc about his dream…it was a dream right? He frowns down at his hands and starts picking at his thumbnail. 

"We checked your stomach too, Louis, we found nothing in there. Although I have to say, drinking on an empty stomach…" He clicks his tongue, displeased. "I’m not saying this is what caused the sleepwalking, but it definitely could be a reason for it. And it probably caused you to vomit. I don’t think that is all too concerning, but please eat something before you drink and to be on the safe side, eat a snack when you get home. Do you drink regularly?" 

Louis’ head jolts up. He ignores the pain that shoots through his neck as he does so. "I’m not an _ alcoholic _," he says with narrowed eyes. "I drink as everyone my age does, but it’s not a usual thing. Besides, I didn’t have a drop of alcohol on Sunday and I ended up outside as well." He crosses his arms defiantly, jutting his lower lip outward. 

The doctor hums, clicking his pen. Louis wishes he’d stop doing that. It’s scratching at his already worn nerves. 

"You can’t…no, I’m no alcoholic. This is stupid." They can’t pin this on him, right? That not possible. Yet it would be an easy explanation for so-called wannabe doctors, an easy fix to relieve them from a mystery. 

"Of course you aren’t an alcoholic. You have been here for two long days and shown no signs of withdrawal." 

"Obviously," Louis mutters, matter-of-factly, waving an airy hand. 

"We’ll take some blood samples," he says, and when Louis sends him a killer glare, his chest already puffing with air of protest to deny that he is an alcoholic, the doctor holds up his hand and smiles warily, "just for a routine check, don’t worry. As for the sleepwalking, hmm. Hypnosis is a common treatment and often successfully, too. The best thing to do is set up a sleeping schedule to prevent sleep deprivation, go to bed as early as you can and sleep in. Since you’re on break that should be possible, I believe." He pauses and comes to a stand next to Louis’ hospital bed. "Anti-depression meds are helpful in some cases, but we’ll see how it goes with just going to bed early and go from there. I don’t like prescribing medication that easily." 

Louis nods, a lump tangled in his throat. "Okay," he whispers, lowering his gaze to the thin white blanket pooling around his hips. 

"I know it’s a lot to take in." 

Fucking hell, yes it is. 

Louis sighs and sinks lower on the mattress. "Thank you." 

"I’ll talk to your mum and the nurse will come in shortly to take some blood. Get some rest, Louis." With a friendly pat to his arm, the doctor leaves, closing the door behind him. 

Louis stares at the ceiling. He can’t believe this is happening and he still doesn’t know what exactly is happening at the same time. It’s bizarre. Either he is going insane, sleepwalking, dreaming something that feels more real than laying on this very bed, or something else is going on and he just has to figure out what it is. 

The words spoken to him in that last second before passing out cold are still in his brain like a shaking wire of anxiety: _ you’ll end up like him… _

Like who? 

What is his brain trying to tell him? Because, surely, surely, surely, it was just a voice in his head, like his thinking voice - that voice that sometimes tells him, _ don’t spill you tea, don’t look so awkward, say something funny, they are laughing with you not at you, loser _— that voice, yeah. It gets worse when he goes to sing on stage, having always suffered from stage fright and no matter how many times he goes up there and smiles at the crowd or even talks to them, it doesn’t go away until he sings the first few notes. Then the voice takes a backseat in his brain and doesn’t show itself anymore until the next performance. 

Well, it isn’t the same situation now, is it? Louis wasn’t on stage, and he doesn’t vomit his soul out in front of a crowd anyways. It didn’t sound like voice talking either, but rather resembled a whispered woman’s voice? 

He wrinkles his nose and shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was definitely closer to a woman’s voice than Louis’ own, but it was just a whisper, a hiss…animated somehow, setting free the last wave of panic, fear, and agony that pushed him over the edge. After at that moment, he draws a blank until waking up here and seeing his mother next to him, sobbing her heart out. 

The door opens and shuts up his mind, Jay entering with Matt and a nurse in tow. Louis smiles weakly as she again takes his hand, squeezing it.

"Everything will be fine," she says. 

Louis hopes that she is right, but a piece of his heart weighs heavy with doubt.

*** * ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, here we are, poor Louis haha...ha, awh. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the first glimpse of spooky events in this chapter. Kudos, comments are very much appreciated aaand have a great weekend everyone! :) x


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery of the barn is nagging Louis' mind until he can't stand it anymore and has a look at it himself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!! As always, I really hope you enjoy the new chapter :) xxx

*** * * **

"Do you need something?" his mother asks, sitting down on the edge of Louis’ mattress in his bedroom. Playing with his fringe, she looks at him with thoughtful eyes. 

"No," he yawns widely, blinking extra languidly at her. "I’m just really knackered. I think I’ll nap for a while." His lashes flutter shut as she continues softly caressing his hair. It brings him right back to his childhood, when she would tuck him in at night and do just that after coming up with another self-created bedtime story. 

"Of course, get some rest, sweetheart. Call for me if you need anything, you hear me?" she kisses his forehead, her gaze gentle as she looks at him. "No matter what, even if it’s nothing at all. I want to know, alright?" 

He nods instead of belittling her worries because that would just develop into another discussion and he can’t have that now. She sighs quietly and gets up, closing the door gingerly on her way out. 

The moment he is alone, a painful moan escapes his lips, his head disappearing below the blanket. Blinking against the dark, he rolls onto his side and stays hidden. After a while, his lungs fill with sticky air and it becomes suffocating, so he re-surfaces and stares at the ceiling instead. 

_ Fuck _. 

The doctor ordered that he is housebound for at least a week, which translates to: no alcohol, less smoking — as if that’s ever going to happen — going to bed around nine o’clock at night and getting up as late as possible, no caffeine, no painkillers, and no medication whatsoever. However, they allowed him to go on a run in the morning, bless them. Fantastic, the least fun thing is the one he is allowed to do. After that they told him he should meditate or do yoga and yep, no thank you, he’d rather be sleepwalking actually because yoga sounds just like another word for boring himself to sleep whilst sitting in a room filled with sticky, oily air and classical voodoo music. Next thing he knows his mother will force him to drink green smoothies and take him with her to pilates or some soul-cycling bullshit. 

What would make him feel better is a spliff shared with Niall and them messing around for a few jams, that’d fix the boredom, hurt, and confusion he’s currently enduring. But obviously that’s out of the question. Niall is still in Ireland and won’t set a foot overseas until he absolutely has to. 

He fists his blanket as his breath comes out in hasty puffs. There is nothing to distract his mind from the little part of him that keeps nagging about the other night, what went down, how come he was in so much pain when all tests showed him, the doctor, and his family that he is indeed a healthy young man? At the hospital he hadn’t suffered from sleepwalking or endured another wave of that utter, gut-wrenching nausea. Perhaps, like the doctor said, it really was his day drinking without food. The other day though — Louis has told the doctor time and time again, he had only one laughable beer, which, _ c’mon _ …that cannot be it. He isn’t that much of a fucking lightweight, it’s _ offending _ even. Yep that is it, all the doctor did was insult him, not help him. Psh. _ Doctors _ . What do they _ know _ anyway, huh? They were probably high the entire time at university, as his fellow music students are. No wonder...no wonder, ts...

Rolling onto his right side, facing the closed balcony door, he shuts his eyes and tries to find some peace, but what he gets isn’t a few hours of tender slumber, nope. 

He drifts off and as soon as his body goes lax on the mattress, he sees the girl with brunette hair and green eyes. 

She isn’t smiling at him, and doesn’t say a word. They aren’t in Louis’ bedroom, no, they are standing outside the barn yet again and like last time, she stretches out her arm and points her index at the barn, staring at him with lifeless eyes, her tiny mouth pressed to a straight, humourless line. She turns her head, fixing the barn on the spot. 

They, once more, aren’t moving — just standing and staring, hand in hand. 

The wind is biting, thick drops of rain fall from the grey, heavily clouded sky, and still they stand and stare, neither moving a muscle.

Louis has so many questions although no words leave his lips. His mind spinning and his vision goes blurry, maybe from the cold, maybe from the tears, maybe from the rain. He isn’t able to do anything about it. 

Her tiny hand holds onto his, her fingers squeezing the life out of Louis’ own. 

_ What is in that barn? _ He wonders — what in the hell could be in there that this little girl has dragged him all the way down here at night? Why doesn’t she just opened her mouth and tell him what’s up? That would be way less creepy and perhaps he could help somehow? They could solve whatever it is together. 

But she doesn’t talk, doesn’t blink, just stares straight forward and forces Louis to do so, too. 

Whatever it is, Louis wants to find out even if it’s the last thing he will do.

* * * 

He wakes up panting and soaked in his own cold sweat. For a moment he is puzzled, glancing around, trying to find out where he is. The blanket gives him a hint and the sunlight beaming through the windows does, too. At least Louis didn’t wake up outside. He is in his bed, which is a relief so to say. Relaxing back on the mattress, his chest puffs with calming breaths, inhaling through his nose all the way to his belly, letting the air sit there until he has mentally counted to eight. After that, he releases it slowly through his agape mouth, and it brings his heart rate down successfully, just like the nurse taught him to do whenever he feels anxiety knock on the door. 

He stretches his fingers which were cramped around the edges of the blanket, holding on to it like a lifeline, and wiggles his wrists, rolling both in the air. They make little clicks as he does so. 

Carefully he slides his legs over the edge of the mattress and plants his bare feet on the floor. Rolling his shoulders back, stiff from laying down for days on end, he lets the joints in his spine pop and gets up, dragging his body to his closet in search of trousers, a shirt, and fresh socks. 

When he is fully dressed — after almost falling over as his left foot got stuck in his trousers’ fabric as he pulled it up his leg — he grabs his phone, guessing it will be useful on his upcoming adventure. He steals down the stairs, being very quiet because he doesn’t want anyone to notice what he is about to do. After all, he is meant to be napping upstairs and definitely not wandering around the garden. 

There are voices coming from the living room along with a theme song of a television show, which is great because it means that Jay and Matt are distracted and won’t go check on him anytime soon. 

He slides out of the front door and draws his shoulders to his ears, keeping his head low as he moves to the barn in hurry. 

It looks just like it did in his _ dreams _: some grey brick stones are missing here and there, the green painted door is losing its colour, and all in all it looks run-down and not used for years and years. 

What did they do in there anyway? It’s too small for cows or horses and there isn’t a big enough door to park a car in that barn. They could have used it for either chickens or as a storage room of some sort, or, well there is always the possibility that it was nothing all together and they, just like his parents, didn’t use it and let it stand empty. 

Louis straightens his spine and takes one last breath before pushing the door open. It gives a hair-raising creaking sound and Louis scrunches his face, his teeth clicking as he sets his jaw. 

Glancing over his shoulder to quickly check if someone heard it, he lets his shoulders slump. He is alone outside. 

He relaxes completely and takes a step into the murkiness, watching the narrowed door frame and ducking his head. He shuts the door behind him and gets his phone out of his back pocket, turning on the flashlight. He takes big, careful steps over to the small window, where not even a watermelon could fit through, but by opening it some sun shines in and illuminates the inside of the barn in a faintly dim glow. Dust swirls in a few rays of sun and as Louis steps over hay on the ground, more dust sweeps into the air, clinging to his airways. He coughs into his fist before having to sneeze loudly, the sound echoing off brick and walls. He freezes on the spot, resisting the urge to sniff his runny nose as he tries to listen for noises. When there are none, he wiggles his nose and brushes the tip with the back of his hand.

Now having a better view of the scene, Louis is left oddly disappointed. It is just what it looks like from the outside, a completely normal, run-down, and unused barn that hasn’t been cleaned in over a decade. It stinks of rotting, mouldy hay that has been there for probably longer than Louis has walked this earth. 

He moves a bit to the left and promptly finds that he was wrong about there not being animals as he walks straight into a huge spider web. 

“_ Arruhh… _” he groans, flailing wildly around with his arms and shaking his head, feeling the spider's web everywhere. An unstoppable shiver rolls over his skin as he fights it off, hopping around the hay, nearly slipping and eating it. 

“Fuck this,” he huffs with disgust as he brushes the remaining silk off his cheek and onto his trousers, his eyes searching his shoulders left and right for the actual spider. His fingers tousle his hair quickly in a sweeping motion as another shudder wrecks his body frame. 

Louis breathes in shakily and now that his heart has overcome the shock of spiders, he can have a real look at what he has in front of him. Immediately, he spots a mouse skipping over the floor and disappearing into another little mountain of hay in the corner. 

Great.

Inhale, exhale. 

He scratches behind his ear and crosses his arms, taking in the place slowly. It’s definitely not that impressive, as he had he thought before. Sure, it’s creepy and to borrow Harry’s word _spooky — _but so is every barn, innit? The only thing missing would be someone standing in a corner with their back turned towards Louis and we’d have _The_ _Blair’s Witch Project _part two. Anyhow, the eeriness doesn’t explain why this girl keeps waking Louis up at arse o’clock at night for him to join her to go to this barn to fucking _stare_ at it. Why bother when there is nothing to it? 

Hence — here has to be some sort of clue. Logic. 

There is a dripping sound coming from the ceiling, drops hitting the ground in an even pattern. 

Birds chirp through the open window. 

The hay smells badly. 

He grinds his teeth in frustration. This is silly, he’s being stupid for buying into the whole thing. It’s nothing but a dream, right? It doesn’t matter that he has a nagging gut feeling that just keeps tugging with cries for attention. It’s a nightmare. A very real one perhaps but…

_ This is bullshit _ . He is no Sherlock Holmes, and he doesn't even know what he is looking for, though before he entered he was so certain of himself. He thought it would present itself on a silver platter alongside a universal explanation. However, besides the strangeness lingering within these four walls, there isn't anything that would stir ill feelings inside his belly, where he’d go, _ 'Oh yes, that’s it, very scary. Okay, now that I know that, I can stop sleepwalking and move on with my life. Excellent, thanks a lot, cheers.' _

So far the only clarification he has gotten is that he might be going insane - that’s a thing right? People turning paranoid out of nowhere, seeing things that aren’t there, having nightmares and sleepwalking, sure…

Scanning the place for a final time, the little bubble of hope to solve his problem dims before it completely vanishes, leaving a clenching hole in its place.

He puts his hands on his hips, exhaling in surrender. This is it. Nothing here to see, to get, or to understand. The _ dream _ was just a _ dream _ , and the girl only existed in his mind. _ Hurreh _. 

His arms drop to his flanks, hands balling into fists.

"Fuck this place," he growls under his breath in chagrin, kicking hay to let out his built up, overwhelming frustration. He has been so bloody _ naive _ , so bloody _ tired _ , so bloody _ freaked out _ and _ frightened _ . He has been in so much _ pain _ the past days. _ For what? Why? _ Louis knows one thing and _ one thing only: _ he dwelled on it too much, reading into it enough for him to go bloody _ nuts, _ having a search party in an abandoned barn that not even Matt would set a foot in, and all for absolutely fucking nothing. 

_ You know what? _ he muses to himself, _ this little freaky girl can just fuck right off if merely she’s up to frighten him. _ He’s done with her too. 

Abruptly, Louis turns to leave, ducking his head to fit through the tiny doorway when his muscles freeze, foot still raised, ready to take another step. He catches himself at the door frame and rotates carefully on the spot in one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. His eyes snap to the spot where he kicked mouldy hay. He moves on light feet back towards it and bends forward, holding his breath. 

His eyebrows disappear under his fringe and his gaze narrows. Yeah, he thought he spotted something out of the corner of his eye as he went to leave. 

_ But what is it? _ His eyebrows furrow and he squats down, cringing when he wipes more hay to the side with his palm. It sticks and feels moist on his skin. 

Once he has freed it completely, he releases a shuddered exhale, blinking with owlish eyes as he takes it in fully. 

Well, honestly he has no clue what exactly he is looking at. 

He turns his head sideways. 

It’s…a symbol? Huh? 

In red, there is a [symbol](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ee/9b/bb/ee9bbb8bbc3b0065ab0f1b3c2814d737.png) painted on the hard cement ground and circled. The lines look a bit wavering, as if someone did it with a shaky hand. 

On first glance it resembles a Chinese sign or…he doesn’t fucking know, but he has never seen anything like it so he’s a bit at a loss. 

He lets his flashlight shine upon it, leaning even closer as he tries to balance himself on his feet in his crouched position. His eyes squirm. 

It’s a geometric symbol, all straight lines and sharp corners. Not recognising it, Louis leans closer to analyse it. It looks like an upside down T, with a backwards Z zigzagging from the top of the symbol, crossing through the stem of the T twice to form two triangles. On the left, at the end of the T’s base there is a small circle, and at the end of the Z there is a short vertical line.

Quickly, he takes a picture of it and stands upright with aching limbs. Pursing his lips, he scans the remaining hay covering the majority of the ground. 

_ Well, let’s have a look, shall we? _

He kicks and pushes all hay to the walls. Now that his excitement has returned and is buzzing in his bones, he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He brushes them over the dirty ground in the greedy hope of exposing more drawn symbols or hidden messages. However, when he is done and slaps his hands together to get rid of some filthy strands of clingy hay, he is left disappointed once more because the _ T/L/cross sign _ remains the only painted one in the barn. 

Louis pouts. So this is it then. A mysterious symbol, eh? 

What does he do with it now?

Since he can’t find an immediate answer, he sighs, scanning the symbol once more. It doesn’t tell him anything, it’s just been chilling on the ground for God knows how long. What is the purpose of it? Who made it? _ Does it have anything to do with the girl? _

It _ could _ be a funny coincidence. 

Anyway, Louis redoes this work of pushing the hay out of the way that got him sweaty and sore and covers the symbol with kicks of his heels, sprinkling it like confetti all over the place. 

At least he found something. Even though it only stirs more confusion to cloud his mind, it’s a start. 

When he is done, he rubs his hands clean, leaving dark wet stains on his ruined trousers and pats his back pocket, feeling the outline of his phone. With a last look around the ill-lit, eerie space, his shoulders hunch and he steps into beaming sunshine, this time not minding the narrowed doorframe and hitting his head on his way out. He hisses, clenching his eyes shut and rubbing his throbbing forehead. _ Fuck, that bloody hurt. _

For a moment he is blind, stumbling his way across the courtyard to where he thinks the stairs leading up to the front door are. The tip of his shoe hooks on a step and he trips, catching himself on the door handle, which is unlocked and opens forcefully as his hand pushes it down, causing his body to go flying into the foyer. 

“_ Jesus _,” he breathes as he blinks around, his big toe aching and his forehead pulsing. 

“Louis?” 

Before his mother can spot him and worry about his dirty stained appearance, he pulls himself together and rushes up the stairs, being mindful with his feet this time and making it to the second floor without falling on his face and eating dirt. 

His first stop is in the bathroom. He flicks the light switch, raising his brows as the lamp stays out - why hasn’t Matt fixed it by now? It has been days. Sighing to himself, he leaves the door ajar and with only the spare flicker of shadowed light coming from the windows in the corridor, opens the tap and splashes freezing water in his face, scrubbing mouldy dirt off his features with harsh fingers. He pulls a grimace as the water in the sink turns brownish and reminds him of his earth-like vomit the other day. 

His head is still pounding with ache as he dries himself and quivers as a few drops of water slip past the neckline of his shirt. 

Going back into his bedroom, he gets undressed to his pants before flopping on the mattress and crossing his legs like a pretzel, his phone pillowed in his naked thigh. Only then, once he has unlocked his device, the realisation dawns on him that he has used up all this data and therefore his plan to google the symbol or ask Niall if he knows anything about it falls flat. Rolling his eyes, he lays on his back and stares straight ahead, the ceiling swimming in front of his drying, unblinking eyes. 

Great. 

Just perfect. 

Of course.

Fuck YouTube. 

There is nothing left to do but devote his time to peer at the picture on his phone until his eyes are bleary and the sun has sunk low on the horizon. He takes breaks of course, for a smoke and a wee and abandons his spot on the bed for his desk, but no matter where he sits, how long he leers at it, or how many cigarettes he smokes, it doesn’t help clear up anything. 

So far the symbol hasn’t said anything to him, like if it is related to God or if it’s Jewish or even Irish, Chinese, Arabic or from Egypt — yeah, sure, he could wrap his mind around at least that and let it go. But it’s something entirely unknown, mysterious, nagging. The more he fixes his attention on it, the more his frustration grows anew. He would be foolish to believe he knows _ everything _ in this world, but Louis thought he knew at least _ some _ shit, but… 

_ But _. 

It’d be nice to have an answer to all questions that his mind has been swimming in since his dream and his sleepwalking episode. Louis was certain he’d found _ the _ solution in that barn. The girl seemed to tell him so, yet he is sitting in front of a puzzle and most of the pieces are missing. 

Scratching the top of his head, he sighs through his nose and shuts his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed lids as he arches his spine against the backrest of his desk chair. 

Okay, how stupid...how stupid would it be to take Harry’s words into consideration? 

Witches, he said, were burned on these grounds. 

Let’s say Harry is truthful about that. Would that make this little girl — Louis visibly cringes — _ a witch? _

A noise from the hallway pulls him out of it and draws his attention away from witches and girls and barns and symbols. Louis holds his breath as footsteps come his way and stop. There is a knock on the door, but before he has time to call out that he is busy, his mother is poking her head through the gap, first searching for him on the bed, then darting her gaze sideways until she has spotted him at the desk. 

"What are you doing?" she asks, stepping into his room and coming to stand behind him, laying her hand on his shoulder.

"I’m…" he starts, before he gives a shrug and holds his phone up, showing her the picture of the symbol. "Does that say anything to you? Have you seen it somewhere before?"

She takes his phone and hums deeply, she squeezes his shoulder. "No, nothing, honey, I’m sorry," she shakes her head and gives him back his phone. He slumps in his seat. "Where did you take that?" 

"Nowhere, it’s not mine. Niall sent it to me. He’s trying to figure out what it means," he lies, nibbling on his bottom lip as he glances at the picture, the symbol staring back at him.

"I’m sure he’ll figure it out," Jay says, patting the top of his head. "Don’t worry about it. Dinner’s almost ready; it’d be nice of you to join us." 

"I’m not hungry," Louis mumbles, locking his phone and throwing it onto the desk with a dull plop. 

"That’s no excuse. I don’t like it when you skip meals." 

"Mum…" he whines, rolling his head around his neck and blinking up at her with pouty lips. 

She taps his nose and smiles. "No excuses, you need to eat something." 

"Fine," he groans, making it a bigger deal than it is, just to put up a fight about something. 

His mother doesn’t mind, though, and is satisfied with his answer. She tells him supper will be ready in half an hour and shuts the door behind her.

The silence which she left him in is a pressure on his ears and he flops stomach first onto his bed, moaning into the mattress. 

He is tired but not at all, hungry but also not at all, restless but having no energy for anything. His mind is just as puzzled about his body as his body is with his mind and they both fight to win the upper hand. Nobody wins, everyone is at a loss and so Louis closes his eyes. For a simple second he has peace, the ringing in his ears fading as even breathes come and go and just when he is ready to submit to sleep, there is another knock on the door. 

This time it’s Matt and he just calls out through the wood in passing, _ 'Supper’s ready!' _

Dinner is a quiet affair. Matt doesn’t talk about politics or business and silently eats his beans, which is a pleasant change for once. Louis is only playing with his food, shunting it from one corner of his plate to the other. This goes on for so long that his mum slaps his wrist and tells him to stop being childish. 

He eats a few bites, but everything is tasteless on his tongue. 

"I’ll get the internet fixed tomorrow," Matt says when he is done and grabs himself another beer. "So you don’t have to mope around all day." 

"Thank you," Louis says, raising his brows in surprise at his stepfather. 

"No worries, son," he nods grimly and takes a long gulp of his beer. "Also I checked that light bulb in your bathroom, it’s working just fine." 

Louis frowns. "No…it isn’t." 

"Maybe you shut it off by accident because when I used it the other day it worked. It might have flickered a few times, but got ahold of itself," he shrugs, nonchalant. "No need to exchange the light bulb." 

That is weird. 

"Okay…" Louis murmurs, averting his eyes, his forehead still wrinkled. “I used the bathroom earlier though, and it still didn’t work.” 

Matt hums. “You gotta try it a few times. Didn’t go on at first. So there you go. Don’t worry.” He takes a large sip of beer, muffling his burp with his fist. "Anyway—" Matt then starts talking about business and interviewing to hire a handyman and Jay falls easily into it, both not minding when Louis takes his plate, puts it in the sink, and goes to his bedroom. 

* * * 

It’s nine o’clock at night and obviously Louis is still awake. Giving his bed a dark glare, he slips onto the balcony because to hell with it right? He refuses to meditate, refuses to stop smoking and refuses to go to bed at old-people’s-time. It’s the way it is and no matter how much his mother tried to convince him to at least try to fall asleep he just jutted out his bottom lip, crossed his arms, and stared at her until she sighed and left. In truth, Louis feels bad for being a dickhead to his mother - he knows she only means well and is looking out for him and his health. His confession of having been sleepwalking has freaked her out as much as it confused him.

He has an idea set in his mind, which she cannot know about, and for that plan to take place he has to stay awake as long as he can and smoke as many goddamn cigarettes as he pleases, although a little voice whispers to him that it won’t do it. But it’s easy to pass time in the cold since the internet isn’t fucking working and reading is — _ booh _ — boring. So, he sits and smokes and picks up his guitar to strum a few bittersweet chords, minding his thumb as he cramps his fingers in an unnatural yet familiar angle. 

When the time comes that his fingers are numb from the strings which have left imprints on his fingertips, his cigarette packet is empty, and the brisk night wind is getting too unbearable, he is forced to reenter his bedroom at last. 

It’s dark inside and as the moonlight shines through his open balcony door, the silence wrapping him in and crushing him, nerves kick in. He nibbles nervously on his bottom lip as he sinks onto the mattress. His feet tap on the floor, and he strokes his thighs. 

So this will be it, Louis guesses with a glance to the clock on his nightstand: midnight, also known as _ witching hour. _

_ Spooky _. 

_ Gosh _, Louis hates Harry for putting that word on a loop in his mind. 

He lays in the middle of his bed, over the blanket, and stares at the ceiling, folding his hands on his stomach. 

Yep, this is it. 

Sighing, he checks the time again. It’s been only three minutes - why does it drag so much? Can’t it fly like it usually does? Can it not be like three A.M. already because then he could have it over with and put behind him, hopefully being smarter than before. 

He inhales shakily and as he exhales, his breath hitches, his pulse strong on the hollow of his throat. He presses his index into the pit, the skin under his fingertips thin and fragile. He puts more pressure on it until it cuts the air off and a light white noise comes to his ear as his pulse beats loudly in his head and lifts his fingertip in a rapid rhythm. Louis has seen countless movies where someone was choked to death and obviously he has never experienced that before, but it’d be easy, he guesses, letting up from his throat and cupping his chin, so easy to put more and more pressure on someone’s throat until their brain wouldn’t get enough oxygen, they’d be scratching at the other’s hands for them to let go, begging them to have mercy, please — 

Wait, what? 

He frowns at the ceiling and shakes his head, trying to get the image out of his mind. Swallowing, he strokes over his throat and rolls onto his side, peering at nothing. 

Louis is probably not the only one who thinks about these kind of things, like how it would feel like to be hit by a car or shot with a gun. Would it hurt? What does dying feel like? Would it hurt if someone slit your throat, held your head under water, or burned you alive? The fear, the pain, the knowledge you won’t make it — what does that feel like? 

It’s not like he thinks about it constantly, _ duh _ — honestly he is surprised at himself for where his mind wandered. The image of someone leaning over him and forcing their hands around his throat came out of the blue. 

Swallowing, he rubs his cheek against the pillow and pushes his hands underneath it, closing his eyes. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily, his mind still buzzing with what he wants to do, but exhaustion catches up with him in the end and pulls him down. 

* * * 

It’s happening, it’s fucking happening. 

Noises, it always starts with that, soft noises as if someone is trying to be quiet in the dark. A door opens and closes, but Louis doesn’t react, keeps his breath even although his heart is racing in his chest and fear prickles at the back of his neck. 

Then, there are footsteps, light hushing footsteps. 

Feeling a presence next to his head, he blinks his eyes open and dizzily looks up at the girl. This time around she doesn’t smile at him like before. Instead, she solemnly takes his hand and leads him out of his room, walking faster than he remembers. Soon they are outside, like usual, in front of the brick barn, painted in an ominous blue glow from the moon which strongly shines through the few clouds. 

Louis swallows heavily and looks at the girl, who like all the other times, he guesses, is stretching out her arm and pointing.

He is going to have a heart attack, he thinks, his heart now beating so hard he feels it vibrating in his bones. Louis is going to do it…he is, but his tongue, fuzzy and thick, is useless and his mouth has run dry. 

Inhaling shakily, he looks at the barn, then after that back at the girl.

_ Do it, _ he tells himself, trying to work up the courage, _ do it, fucker, do it or you won’t ever find out and go mad, mad, mad, mad… _

His chest heaves. 

"W-what…does the symbol mean?" he asks, holding his breath as he awaits her answer. "I found it," he adds as silence stretches between them. 

Glancing down, a chill runs over his spine as he finds her already staring at him, her eyes green and big. "Can you tell me?" he speaks in a soft voice, trying hard not to scare her away because the way she is looking at him tells him she is definitely thinking about running. 

Her eyes dart to the side. A flicker of something crosses her face, but it’s gone so fast that he has no time to figure out what it was. When Louis checks, he thinks he sees a shadow hushing out of view but he can’t be sure, forming his eyes into slits to see better in the night. His attention is drawn back to the girl as she squeezes his hand, hard. 

"I…" Louis starts again, low and careful, "I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong." 

The girl isn’t talking and doesn’t look at him again, but just stares at the barn like always. Then her grip turns to steel and his muscles go lax as a spell overcomes his mind. He tried to fight it the moment he felt the first tinglings roll over his skin, but the girl’s touch is strong and his bones are weak. 

His head goes dizzy as his eyes gloss over and, like the girl, he stares at the barn. 

They don’t move another muscle. 

* * * 

He figured he’d wake up in the garden again, but when he blinks his eyes open, he is staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, his body covered in his blanket and his bedroom door closed — just like how he fell asleep. 

Stuttering a sigh, he crosses his arms over his face. So what exactly does he remember? 

The girl, definitely the girl with green eyes and curls. 

The barn, grey and lit with a blue glow from the sky above. 

The wind, biting and cold — he shudders at that, a phantom shiver running over his body and raising goosebumps on his bare arms. 

But — was it a dream or did he walk out into the night? 

That he doesn’t know, and how could he? He was half-asleep when it happened and only pieces of his memory are left behind. 

Knocking his fist against his forehead, he chants mentally: _ think, think, think, think _. 

And then it dawns on him: she didn’t reply to his question about the symbol. 

However…when it was something his mind made up and he himself doesn’t know the answer to, how could that little dream-girl know? 

He is going insane. This is how it starts, isn’t it? Seeing people that aren’t there, who live inside his head and show him things that aren’t real. Well as long as he doesn’t hear God speaking directly in his ear, he is on the safe side, is he not? 

"Fuck…" he exhales and sits up in a whoosh. He stills and frowns at the blanket pooling around his hips. "Wait…" he murmurs, "_ sh… _ " he tries it out, his brows pushed together in a strong line. " _ Sh… _ " he says again, " _ sh…sh….sh…sh! _" 

_ Sh… _

It kickstarts his memory, his eyes flickering from side to side seeing nothing at all — he is so close, he can feel it, so close…

_ Sh… _

Sh? 

_ Sh… _

"_ Sh… _" he breathes. Something is nagging at his mind. His head shoots up and he stares blankly at the closed door.

"_ Carefully…one step in front of the other… _ " he recalls a voice saying, spoken in a quiet, gentle tone, " _ There you go, we almost made it…whoops — almost missed a step. Up we go, up we go… _ " And then: " _ Shh…shh…it’s okay, sh…I’m here, don’t worry I’ve got you…sh… _" 

His eyes dart from left to right as he touches his cheek, sliding his hand down to his chin and laying it upon his throat. Louis doesn’t recognise the voice, his memory too weak for that, and he can’t put a face to it either. The most logical explanation would be that it was his mother, but the voice was too deep for that, too male — _ so...Matt? _

That, somehow, sits disturbingly wonky with him and he pulls a grimace, pressing his palm against his Adam’s apple. He must have dreamed it, _ dreamed it all _ …it was nothing but a bizarre dream that stuck around and became part of his reality. Like his night terrors: then, he too had thought a girl was sitting on his bed, her head turning like an owl’s towards him, her eyes glaring at him from the top of her shoulder blades and he had screamed, screamed, and _ screamed _ until his mother came rushing to his room and woke him up, held him, and told him, _ shhh…it's all right. _

Perhaps the symbol has nothing to do with his dream. Maybe he thought it did because it was the only thing he could find and he had made up his mind so quickly because it made sense for a short second. 

One real thing mixed with an imaginary thing. The symbol, very real, painted on the ground and the girl just a leftover from his horror nightmares when he was a child himself. Is…that possible? Logical? Does it make it any less scary? 

No, it doesn’t because he still was sleepwalking the other nights and ended up in the garden. So how come he would wake up by the river when the girl showed him the barn? 

"You know what…" Louis says aloud, blinking, "I don’t care." 

He doesn’t want to figure it out. 

Soon summer will break into autumn, university will start, and before he knows it he will be with Niall and Perrie going to their usual pub, playing on stage, going to weddings to perform, and he will devote all of his free time to studying and practicing. By the end of the year he will have all but forgotten about the girl, the barn, and the symbol because, reality check — it won’t bloody matter. 

Even just considering letting it go lifts a big weight from his heart and his chest heaves in relief as he breathes easier. He came to help his mum with the house, get it all sorted, spend time with her, and get to know her husband - that was his original plan and from now on he might just stick to that. 

* * * 

The day flies by just as Louis likes it to. He spends endless hours by the river playing his guitar, singing a few lines of a song he and Niall had been practicing before break, and forgets all about his dreams and his sleepwalking affair for a while. 

His mum is still wary with him, eyeing him with concern whenever she’s nearby, so he makes an effort to smile extra brightly at her. He goes as far as helping with dinner, cutting carrots into little tiny pieces and even getting involved in supper-talk, which visibly pleases not only his mother but also Matt, who (kind of) makes an effort to talk to him, too. It’s nice, until Matt pats him on the shoulder and asks: "Where is your girlfriend, huh? Should I be calling our wedding counselor?" 

Louis had already opened his mouth to reply with his usual, _ 'I’m gay, thanks,' _but his mother kicks his shin under the table. He shuts his mouth, sending her a confused glance, they have a conversation over Matt’s head with their eyes. 

"_ Don’t _," Jay’s eyes say. 

"_ Why? _" his eyes snap back. 

She merely shakes her head and the good mood decreases as he lies and says his other routine of, _ 'no partner yet, I like to concentrate on university fully _,' which seems to be the right answer since Matt nods and smiles and his mother’s foot taps his shin under the table in what he guesses is approval. 

Well, it’s not that Louis is oblivious. Matt’s opinion about jobs and women and men is already proof enough of what type of mindset he has, but does that mean that Louis again has to hide in the closet when he is already out to everyone else? His mother has always been open-minded and supportive, and so have his sister, grandma, and grandpa. They are all loving people, so it was no trouble getting it out. He wasn’t scared; he mentioned it and they didn’t make a big deal out of it, which was just what he wanted - and what he needed - back in the day. It had opened the possibility that others might greet him with open arms like his family had, too.

And so far, besides some bullies at college and university, he has had it well. There was one ugly scenario where two guys from the football team cornered him and threatened him, but his coach passed by and told them off after that, threatening to expel them. When they started acting up with the usual _ 'what if he looks at me in the shower' _ his coach made it easy for them and kicked them off the team. It turned out his son was gay too and after a football match, one of the last Louis had played, the coach’s son came over to him, telling him how great of a game it was. Then, he came out with the real reason that he came all the way around the pitch and told Louis that his father had told him what had happened and fast forward, they started hanging out and became close friends until Louis moved to Bristol and Brian took his chances on a scholarship in the US. They tried to stay in contact but, well, as these things go, they couldn’t keep up with both of their hectic schedules and time zones and therefore drifted apart. They text each other here and there, but no more than small talk. Louis missed him terribly the first few months, but then he got to know Niall and Perrie and Stan and that was it. _ Anyway _. 

So, the question is — Louis has a lot of those lately, huh — what would happen if he told Matt? Would he lay hands on Louis, beat him? Would he snarl, pack his shit and leave? Would Louis be the reason for ruining his mother’s new marriage? Of course, he has heard stories how marriages broken apart because one parent couldn’t come around and accept their child as is whilst the other was supportive. Would it be selfish of Louis to come clean if that meant it could cause his mother’s unhappiness?

_ Yes, yes it would _. 

That is why he pulls himself together. Matt doesn’t need to know, because — again, summer will end sometime and he will go back to his old life. In Bristol, it won’t affect Matt and his opinion won’t affect Louis’ life or burden his mother’s. 

That…makes sense, yeah. 

He keeps his mouth shut and when his mother asks him if they can talk, Louis shrugs and tells her it’s all good before going back upstairs. 

He falls asleep with a knot in his stomach around two in the morning. 

* * *

_ Well, shit. _

Instead of seeing his ceiling when he wakes up, he sees an endless blue sky with no memory whatsoever how he got out onto the lawn yet again. Obviously, deep in his bones sits the heavy knowledge of what happened to him, but no matter how hard he strains, his sleep-drunk brain to remember the little girl, the barn…anything at all, he comes up empty. It’s all black. He fell asleep in his bed and woke up outside. 

_ So his sleepwalking episode hasn’t come to an end _. 

It frightens him to his core. He gets up on wobbly knees, holding his stomach with phantom pain like he endured the last time he awoke by the river, but there is no nausea, no sickness that engulfs him like a wave of heat, dampens his skin, and makes his belly cramp. No, nothing, only a slight headache that is buzzing around his head and is the strongest at his temples. 

He staggers to the house and, just his luck, runs right into his mother on the stairs. 

"Oh no!" she gasps, her eyes wide and her open mouth covered by her palm. 

"I just went for a glass of water, mum…" the nervous tilt in his voice betrays him and she sighs, taking a step down on the stairs. 

"I don’t believe that one bit," she says, shaking her head sadly at him as if he is a broken toy and she just can’t figure out how to fix it. 

"I’m sorry." He averts his eyes and tugs on the hem of his shirt, putting one foot on top of the other. 

"It’s not your fault, hun, I just…" She presses her mouth to a thin line, her eyes growing sadder by the second, "I’ve never had a situation like this, not even while working at the hospital. It’s a rare condition." 

"So I’ve been told," he presses out, not knowing what else to say.

"Perhaps I should call around for a hypnosis-therapist." 

He pulls a grimace. 

"Darling, it could help and help is what we need, so that you’re safe. What if you walk out onto the street? Or God forbid, get the idea to drive yourself?" she says, speaking faster the more she works herself up with the ideas, "You know how much I’d blame myself?" 

Louis swallows, knowing she is right and puts up no further fight. 

"I’ll call around," she ends their conversation and passes him on the stairs, "you get more rest, darling!" she calls from the kitchen. 

Rest, yeah…as if that is ever going to fucking happen. 

In his bedroom, his mind is a bottomless hole of scary scenarios, questions overloading more questions and fear. 

Fear of the unknown, of what is happening to him and why. 

Around lunchtime, he still hasn’t figured it out. Afternoon ebbs to evening in no time and he is paralysed, glued to his bed but unable to close his lids, staring at the ceiling.

Relief comes in the form of a knock on his door. Because his mind is so deep into the dark hole he spent all afternoon digging himself into, he doesn’t have time to react and before he knows it, the door opens. The finally formed reply on his tongue stays there and is swallowed down with spit, as it is not his mother standing in the doorway, but Harry. 

"Have I come at the wrong time?" he asks by way of greeting, eyeing Louis with raised eyebrows. 

Slowly, Louis heaves himself upward and presses his spine against the headrest. Sighing, he stretches his legs out in front of him with a groan. "No, you’re good," he says, shrugging and crossing one arm behind his head. 

"I heard you weren’t feeling so well the past few days. I came by Monday but nobody was home and when I caught your dad, he told me you were at the hospital? What happened?" Harry is standing in front of Louis’ bed, his arms behind his back as he still considers Louis with careful, concerned eyes. 

"I told you about the sleepwalking already, yeah? They found out," Louis says, wondering why Matt hadn’t told Louis that Harry stopped by. Matt seems like the kind of guy to do so. He lets it rather go quickly, because after all there was so much going on, it probably didn’t seem that important to Matt anyway. It would have been nice to know though. 

"Shit," Harry breathes, ruffling his curls. "What now?" He steps around the bed, sitting on the edge next to Louis’ shin. "Are you going to a psych ward?" 

Louis gives him an eye-roll and kicks lightly at Harry’s hip just to show him how funny Louis thinks Harry is. 

Harry catches Louis’ naked foot and keeps it on his thigh, playing with his big toe. 

Louis chuckles, wiggling his toes. "What are you doing?" 

"Nothing…" 

"You have a thing for feet now?" 

"I might." 

They grin at each other, then Harry lets go of Louis’ toe. Still, he keeps his hand on top of his foot, winding his slender fingers around his ankle. 

"So, they won’t send you away?" Harry asks quietly. 

"Don’t be a dick about it, no they won’t," Louis huffs, knocking his fists on the mattress several times before pressing his palms against the mattress, spreading his fingers wide. 

"I’m not being mean. I’m just asking, that’s it. We have so little time, it’d suck if it ended so soon." 

Louis can’t hide his surprise about Harry’s gingerly spoken confession. His lips part slightly.

The other boy drops his gaze to Louis’ foot as a pretty blush creeps up his cheeks. "I’m just saying, please you don’t be a dick about that now, yeah?" he mumbles. 

"I won’t…" Louis exhales, pressing the heel of his foot more into Harry’s thigh. 

Louis gets lost in Harry’s tender smile. His breath hitches in his throat as Harry’s hand slides up the back of his foot to his shin and ends up cupping Louis’ clothed knee. Harry scoots up the bed until he is sitting next to Louis’ thigh, his eyes never leaving him. In his stomach there is a soft flutter as Harry leans in and pecks the side of Louis’ exposed throat before drawing back so quickly it makes Louis’ head spin. 

"What was that for?" Louis whispers, his chest hot under his shirt. 

Harry gives a half-shrug and a matching coy half-smile. "Just because," he says. 

Louis smiles slowly and then swallows, drawing his legs crossed under his bum. Harry looks at him with wide eyes as Louis cups the side of his throat, the same spot Harry just kissed and brings his fingers to the nape of his neck, his index sinking into soft curls. He puts pressure there, maintaining eye contact as their faces come closer and closer until Louis can feel Harry’s breaths coming from his parted lips. He swallows again, the sound loud between them. There is nervousness in Harry’s eyes, the same as he feels and yet he has already made a bold move, and they are close. Louis has no idea what to do, shit he has no plan, _ mission abort _ — 

He licks Harry’s nose. 

Because that is not weird at all, licking someone’s nose like that. Harry scrunches said nose and chuckles lowly, rubbing the back of his hand over the reddened, wet tip, his eyes sparkling at Louis. 

"Thanks?" he questions, "Okay?" 

"As if you didn’t think about licking my nose," Louis tries to save his embarrassment and grins, his heart on a wild roller coaster in his chest. 

Harry chuckles. "You caught me. My plan has failed," he deadpans. "Oh no. Gotta try to be more subtle next time." 

They laugh quietly, breathily.

"Do you want to play me a song on the guitar?" Louis asks to change the topic, because if he doesn’t get Harry to move he might just end up licking his lips next and — 

"Oh, I can, but I haven’t played for ages. I might be a bit…rusty at best," Harry replies his usual answer when it comes to his guitar playing. 

"I don’t care, really. I’d love to hear you play, c’mon." 

Harry rolls his eyes and smiles, "Fine, okay…" 

"You were probably just waiting for the opportunity to show-off, weren’t you?" Louis teases, returning Harry’s smile. 

"Sure. I’ll probably scare you off, but hey, at least I got a nose-lick out of it," Harry says with a glance over his shoulder as he crosses the room to get the guitar out of its case. "Your ears will definitely bleed, just wait." 

"Ha, ha," Louis says. "_ Somehow, _ I don’t believe you." 

"Hmm…I’m nervous," Harry confesses with another brief glance at Louis, before sitting on the armchair by the window on the left side of the bed. 

Louis crawls over the mattress and sits cross-legged, facing Harry and interlocking his fingers in the space between his legs. 

Harry looks at him and inhales deeply. When he exhales, it’s shaky, and he tucks a loose curl behind his ear. 

"You don’t have to be nervous. It’s just me…" Louis encourages.

Harry wets his lips and hums, strumming the strings a few times to warm up, scooting to the edge of the chair and leaning forward. "Here goes nothing…" he mutters and inhales to his stomach. 

Louis waits. 

Harry doesn’t start playing, merely stares at the neck of the guitar, his expression concentrated and his forehead wrinkled. 

Silence stretches between them. 

"You really don’t have to, y’know? Like if…you don’t want to…I understand so, it’s fine…" Louis says, backtracking because Harry doesn’t only look nervous and concentrated, but frightened, his skin ashen. 

Harry squirms in his seat. "No, it’s fine I just…I get stage-fright." 

"It’s just me…" Louis repeats in a murmur. "I won’t laugh or anything, I promise." 

"Yeah, it’s just you…" Harry muses, wrinkling his nose, "that’s kinda the issue here." 

Louis smiles and Harry returns it, although anxiously. 

Louis’ heart warms as the light flutter in his stomach returns. 

Harry drops his gaze to the guitar and a stern, fixated expression settles on his face. 

He starts strumming the first chords and instantly Louis recognises the song. What he didn’t expect was for Harry to open his mouth and start crooning softly. After all, they had only discussed Harry’s talent to play guitar, not sing too. Jesus. 

"_ I’m so happy…because today I've found my friends — they're in my head…I’m so ugly… but that's okay, 'cause so are you. We've broken our mirrors. Sunday morning…is everyd-a-ay for all I care — And I'm not scared…light my candles in a da-a-aze…'Cause I've found god…yeah, yeah, y-e-e-eah…" _It’s a slow version of the song like Louis has never heard before. But obviously he hasn’t heard Harry sing and in a way he makes the song his own, exchanging Kurt’s voice with his own, softly and tenderly filling the room along with the mellow sound of guitar. 

Harry’s fingers pick the strings as if he is caressing them and his eyes are closed, all nervousness gone and his mind completely immersed in the music. 

Louis’ heart swells, and he holds his breath. 

"_ I’m so lonely but that's o-o-okay I shaved my head…and I'm not sad, _ " Harry sings, swaying his head from side to side in a tiny movement, " _ And just maybe I'm to bla-a-ame for all I've heard. But I'm not sure…I’m so excited, I can't wa-a-ait to meet you there…But I don't care. I’m so horny but that's o-o-okay — My will is good. Yeah…yeah…yeah… _"

Instead of finishing the song like it’s normally sung, he repeats the first two verses again, putting so much raw emotion into his voice that it cracks here and there, adding something unbelievably sincere and haunting. 

When Harry lets the last few chords ebb into quietness, Louis hasn’t breathed once. He inhales shakily when their gazes meet. 

Harry’s green eyes, shadowed by the setting sun, are glossed over and Louis can’t restrain himself. The urge gets the better of him as he scrambles off the bed, takes the guitar from Harry’s limp hands and puts it - still carefully, because Niall would have his head otherwise - on the ground, leaning its neck against the bed. He takes Harry’s cheeks between his hands, his thumb stroking his cheekbone and tentatively leans in, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pointedly ignoring the way his back stings from the awkward position he is bending over in. 

Harry loops his arms around Louis’ middle and presses his face into Louis’ stomach, sniffing softly. "That song always gets to me," Harry’s voice is muffled by the fabric of Louis’ shirt, but he still understands him just fine and starts rubbing Harry’s back. "I should’ve picked something happy." 

"It’s okay…" Louis murmurs, kissing the top of Harry’s head without thinking. 

Harry draws his face back with a shallow inhale and gazes at Louis with intense, wet eyes. "I love that song, you know?" he says. "It’s just…kind of painful." 

"Why?" Louis retreats slowly and sits next to the guitar. 

Harry gives a full-bodied shrug. "I used to sing it a lot when…" he glances to the side and rubs below his nose. Louis waits patiently for the end of the sentence, but it never comes. Seeing Harry emotional like this, he swallows and drops it, not wanting to pressure Harry into a confession that he can’t take back and was forced out of him in a moment of vulnerability. 

"It’s okay, you don’t have to say," Louis finally shrugs, sliding his bare feet over the ground, the air leaving his lungs. 

"No, I’m being stupid." Harry chuckles, but it’s not a happy sound and Louis’ heart sinks a bit lower. "Anyway," Harry gathers himself, pulling his shoulders back and forcing a smile that definitely isn’t reaching his eyes, "why don’t you play me something?" 

"Because I’m still learning and am no master like you are, H." 

"H…I like that," 

Louis hadn’t even noticed that he shortened his name. 

"I mean, I could play and you can sing? This time something happy, huh?" 

Louis agrees because he can see that Harry is desperate for a distraction, a change of topic. 

Harry picks up the guitar again and nods at Louis, "What do you want to sing?" 

"How about The Fray _ — Look After You? _" It’s a good song, and one of his earlier covers back when he was just starting out in his bedroom at his mum’s old place. 

"Uh…" Harry bites his bottom lip as another flush reddens his face. 

Louis laughs, his shoulders sagging with amused realisation. "You don’t know that song…" 

"I’m afraid not…sorry. I’m a bit behind with all new music." 

Louis wonders why, but doesn’t comment and picks a classic, _'In Only Seven Days' _by Queen, which thankfully Harry knows and starts playing the correct chords to. 

"_ Monday the start of my holiday… _ " Louis starts, his voice a bit hoarse from not singing for a while. He fixates on the ground, pressing his palm to his tummy, feeling it expand with a long inhale. " _ Freedom for just one week, feels good to get away, o-oh… _ " only once he has sung the first verse does he realise how fucking fitting the song is and stutters, breathing out shakily. He definitely avoids Harry’s gaze from there on, which he feels on his face for the entirety of the song. “ _ I wish Friday would last forever. I held her close to me. I couldn't bear to leave her there…” _

When he finishes, he scrubs a hand over his face to catch his breath and finally is able to look at Harry, a small sigh leaving his nose. 

"Shit, that was amazing…" Harry says, his eyes wide and all wetness now gone, _ thank fuck _. "I love your voice." 

On Louis’ lips a tiny smile steals itself, and he strokes his thighs. "Why, thank you Harry…you’re not bad yourself, love." 

Harry nods, glancing down and only then Louis notices another of those slips he has been doing lately. He thinks it’s whatever because from here on, nothing more can go wrong, right? He has already called Harry love, licked his nose, and sang a _ Queen _ ballad that hits a bit too close to home, at least some of it, anyways. Besides Harry is quite lovely, so _ 'love' _ is fitting, therefore…

"Anyway," Louis says, rubbing his nose, "care for another song?" 

* * * 

They spend their time covering different songs and handing the guitar back and forth, taking a few breaks in between songs to slip onto the balcony to smoke, watching the world dip into a dark blue around them. 

At the end, neither of them is capable of playing or singing anymore and their voices, worn out and hoarse, turn to jokes and singing extremely off key to make the other laugh.

Harry composes a commercial out of thin air, selling toilet paper, and Louis hangs upside down off the edge off the bed, holding his stomach as his body frame shakes with loud, bubbly laughter. Harry joins in, his singing voice quivering as he breaks and laughs his ending lines. 

"You’re an idiot," Louis chuckles, glancing upside down at Harry, who grins at him as if it’s the best compliment he has received in his life. "Gimme that thing, it’s my turn." 

Louis can’t come up with a better commercial song, but that doesn’t hold him back from trying. He adds in bits and pieces that have nothing to do with cat food, but it still has Harry in tears when his last chords, badly played, vibrate throughout the room. 

"We both," Harry says, taking the neck of the guitar and leaning it carefully against the closet, "we’d make the worst commercial-ists." 

"Commercial-ists," Louis repeats with a snort. 

They sober and in a silent agreement go onto the balcony. The night is quite lovely, the stars exposed in the sky, no clouds to hide behind, and the moon, half full, in the middle of it all. It’s a wonderful picture of pure serene silence and peace. The garden lies below them innocently as a place to feel at home, to enjoy free time by the river and sunbathe. But when Louis looks to the side, spotting the flat roof of the barn, a needle of fear pokes at his heart and his shoulders stiffen. He clears his throat and shakes his head, closing his eyes momentarily. 

"What’s wrong?" Harry asks, stroking the space between Louis’ shoulder blades. It makes Louis’ eyelashes to flutter softly, the touch causing a tingling sensation that runs along his spine. 

Louis grabs the steel railing and pulls himself onto his tip toes, shifting his weight onto his straight arms. He sighs and hides his nose in his shoulder as he blinks at Harry carefully. 

"Just…" he exhales, wetting his lips, "y’know…the night, I’m honestly scared what’s going to happen when I go to bed." 

"You’ll fall asleep?" Harry tries, cupping Louis’ neck, massaging that too. 

"You know what I mean," Louis huffs and lets go of the railing, cocking his hip against it and crossing his arms. The night is nice, summery though autumn is right around the corner, the crispness of the air being the first harbinger. "I’m nervous I’ll wake up down there again," he gestures to the garden as a whole. 

Harry’s eyes scan his face, and his hand drops from Louis to his side, clenching around nothing. "What exactly happens again? You sleepwalk and wake up in the garden? Anything else?" 

"I see…" Louis brings his gaze to the grass below, "I see a little girl. I know this sounds like mad-talk but I swear to God, it’s the truth. I see her and she leads me to the barn, pointing at it." He shrugs, his voice cracking. "I checked it out the other day and found this symbol painted on the ground." Since Harry isn’t commenting on any of this, Louis carries on, his voice low and raspy from their previous singing hour. "I can’t tell if its real or just a dream, is the thing. I don’t know if that symbol has anything to do with it though, it could be random. Maybe my mind is mixing reality with…movies I have seen or whatnot." He chuckles but there is little humour in his tone. He scrubs a tired hand over the right half of his face. "This is rather stupid, but I’m still freaking out about it though." He glances at Harry, who too looks out to the lawn, his expression unreadable in the glow of the moonlight. Louis waits a few beats before he takes up talking again. "You seem to know a bit about this house, right?" That question brings Harry out of his thoughts.

Surprised, he blinks at Louis, raising his eyebrows slowly as they stare at each other.

"Perhaps you’ve seen the symbol before?"

Harry gives a non-telling half-shrug, "Sure, I could have a look at it." 

Louis nods, stretching one side of his lips into a smile. "Great, okay. I would really prefer putting this all behind me." He rolls his eyes and goes back indoors to get his phone. Harry joins him and plops his bum on the mattress, bouncing in place as Louis unlocks his mobile and taps with his middle finger on screen, pulling up the picture of the symbol he took. He sits down next to Harry and hands him his phone, his eyes staying on Harry as the boy brings the bright display close to his nose and scans it with an intense gaze, his green eyes darting across the picture. 

"Where did you take it again?" Harry murmurs, cocking his head to the side and squinting his eyes a bit. 

"Uh, in the barn. It was painted on the ground…" Louis scratches the back of his neck. "It was all covered in disgusting hay." 

"Hmm," Harry sucks his lips into his mouth, causing a wet noise between them. He itches his nose and gives the phone back to Louis. "Sorry, I don’t…know." But as he says the words, Harry doesn’t look at him. Louis tries to catch his eyes, but his gaze zips to the side before lowering to the floor. Louis chooses not to read too much into it though, disappointment settling over his bones. His hope had already awoken inside of him because Harry is the only person he knows that is from this town and like Harry had mentioned a few times before this house is in a way in everyone’s mouth. Old folktales, that is.

Louis slumps forward and throws the phone on his pillow. "I wish I had some data left so I could look it up." 

Harry shrugs and lays down, bringing his arms over his head on the mattress. "Dunno, I wouldn’t think too much about it. Was probably made by those arsehole kids that come here each Halloween." 

"You said witches were burned here…" Louis starts, pulling at his bottom lip in thought, "maybe it has something to do with that?" Raising his eyebrows at Harry, he thinks his guess could come pretty close since witches do paint symbols everywhere, right? But Harry is already shaking his head, dismissing another of Louis’ far-fetched ideas. 

"No, witch-symbols are mostly stars in a circle. Dunno…" 

A faint memory comes knocking on the door that separates subconscious from consisnous and his old history (or maybe religion) teacher smiles at him, explaining to the class how witches were hunted and all of the symbols they used. They were all round and stars were involved as well, so Harry’s theory matches Louis’ religion teachers’ and that is why he rolls his eyes and mutters: "That’s so stupid, I thought I was onto something…"

"If I were you I’d let it go, honestly, don’t break a sweat about it." Harry shrugs, glancing at him, and when their eyes meet Harry smiles. "Let’s take your mind off things for a while, yeah?" He suggests, standing up and stretching.

Louis obviously had noticed how tall Harry is before, when they met for the first time and when Harry walked towards him at the pub, lanky and towering over Louis, making him feel tiny in comparison. But watching Harry’s arms stretch far above his head and his long torso twist from left to right, Louis only now seems to realise. Harry is tall but tiny, which shouldn’t work at all but does somehow. He isn’t a stick in the landscape, Louis would definitely notice him in the streets, but though Harry does have muscles, his skin still looks soft. The same goes for his tummy, firm but soft — Louis had accidentally slapped him one time on his belly as they were joking around earlier and noticed how soft it was first, though he knew if he pressed his hand more against it, it’d turn harder — meaning there are definitely some well-trained muscles underneath all that pillow-ish skin. Louis has kind of lost track of that thought, thinking about tiny or not tiny, muscles and soft, and Harry notices, raising two strong eyebrows at him in question. When Louis still doesn’t move, he flicks his sternum, bringing him right out of it. 

"Shit, sorry…" Louis mutters, rapidly blinking at Harry. "Want a cigarette? That could be fun, rotting your lungs away and all." 

Harry smirks and Louis reddens. "Sure, we can do that." 

They go onto the balcony, the night air now degrees colder than before. Louis rubs his bare arms as Harry takes two cigarettes at once in his mouth and lights them, handing him one with another of his signature dimpled devilish smirks. "There you go." 

"Thanks." 

For a moment, they are silent. 

Louis flaps his lips and pulls his eyebrows together, sending Harry a considering look. "Care to share some more about this house? Like a proper story not just _ 'yeah witches were burned here, sweet dreams,'? _" 

Harry chuckles, a cloud of grey escaping his mouth and nose at once. He coughs, hitting his chest. "I can tell you loads about this house…" 

Louis brightens and Harry shrugs, looking out to the night. "So, tell me." 

"Well, I already told you about those witches, yeah? I mean some of them weren’t…real witches, I guess." 

"You believe witches are real?" Louis interrupts, inhaling to his lungs. "I just thought you were…trying to scare me." 

Harry smirks. "I like spooky things, so obviously I do believe witches exist. Lately I believe more things than we know of exist amongst us, but we’re too arrogant to see them." 

"What do you mean by that?" 

"Some believe in aliens, others don’t, but we can’t be the only living creatures in the universe, can we? It’s too big for that. Look at the ocean, we only know a little about what’s in there and some waters are too deep for us to explore. We don’t know what’s down there, therefore we also don’t know what’s up there."

"That makes sense…" Louis nods, bringing his fag to his mouth. Honestly he has never really thought about it much. It’s not because he’s arrogant - he likes to believe that they aren’t the only ones in this endless universe, since that is more of a lonely thought than a scary one — but why worry about something that you can discuss until your tongue falls out of your mouth and are still no smarter afterwards, when there are band practices with Niall, YouTube comments to answer to, exams to study for, friends to hang out with, and of course there is sleep, which takes up loads of time. When the topic of aliens or even mermaids comes up, they all humour themselves with it in a _ 'how cool would it be…' _ kind of way, but it goes no further and the topic is replaced sooner or later with current events like a football match or their new professor who reeks of old sweat and cigars (they all have their suspicion that he takes his coffee with Jack Daniels, hence they nicknamed him Professor Jacky D). 

"Anyway…the witches were burned on these grounds and it’s believed, or stories go around, that not all of the…spirits have left this place." 

Louis snorts. "Bullshit." 

Harry straightens his back. "That’s what goes around and that’s why those kids on Halloween love to come here to play pranks on each other and ruin the house, like by painting symbols on the ground." He sighs, "I mean there were weird cases, like some teenagers claimed they saw… ‘_ something _’,” Harry makes air-quotes by his head, “and after that kind of went crazy. They were all institutionalised, or that’s what goes around anyway." 

"Are you being serious?" Louis holds his breath as his heartbeat picks up. 

Harry grins, his dimples appearing. "Am I scaring you now?" 

"You might be…" Louis muses, stumping out his cigarette. 

"Good," 

"You’re a dickhead," Louis huffs, crossing his arms. "No, I don’t believe a word you’re saying." 

"I’m not saying it’s true, but you wanted to know what I know…" Harry drawls, waving an airy hand around, "so there it is." 

"Ghosts," Louis deadpans, blinking at Harry, unimpressed. "I’d rather believe in aliens, thanks." 

"Believe what you want," Harry says with a defiant shrug that goes up to his ears. "Anyway, lets go inside, you’re freezing." 

Back indoors, it’s still cold in the room because they left the balcony door open. A chill engulfs Louis’ body as he shuffles to the bed and sits on the edge. 

"I’d say we could watch something, but Netflix isn’t working because we still don’t have the WiFi going…" 

For a second Harry stares at him blankly, probably because every household in all Britain has running WiFi nowadays and it’s just odd when someone doesn’t. Louis gets it; the last few days have been dragging and boring because his entire existence is dependent on the internet world. 

Harry sits down at the desk chair and gives another of his casual shrugs. "Don’t worry about it. I’d better be going anyway. It’s really late and I don’t want to keep you up." 

Louis hasn’t realised that it is already past midnight by now, and with that knowledge a knot forms in his stomach. He glances to his pillow and dread fills his gut, although he told himself he doesn’t care about it any longer. 

"What’s wrong?" Harry asks. 

"I’m scared to go to bed." 

"The sleepwalking?" Harry figures, standing and walking slowly towards Louis, keeping eye contact all the way until he crouches in front of Louis’ knees and puts his hands around his naked shins. "What can I do to help you?" 

Louis blinks at the sincere spoken question, giving a fragile shrug. "You probably can’t but…I don’t know," he swallows, concentrating on Harry’s bird tattoos that peek out of his neckline. "Could you stay tonight?" 

Slender fingers squeeze Louis’ flesh as Harry’s thumb rubs over his bone before sliding down to Louis’ ankles. "Would that make you feel safer?" Harry’s voice is tender, no trace of mocking humour in it. When Louis brings himself to look Harry in the face, all he sees is true concern shining from his green eyes. "Would it?" he coaxes. 

"Yeah…yeah I think it would." Louis whispers. 

"I can stay." Harry says, nodding. 

"What about your parents?" 

For a moment, Harry stares at him, confused. Then he blinks his lashes rapidly and chuckles. "Ah…yeah no don’t worry about them. They can live a night without me." 

"Okay…I thought they’re sick though?" 

Harry releases a big breath. "I’m more worried about you currently." 

"You are?" Louis asks in a tiny voice. 

"Yes," Harry nods a single time. "So I’ll stay if that’s what you want…what you need." 

Relief lifts from Louis’ heart and he nods too, looping his arms around his own middle. "Thank you," he smiles gingerly. 

"Of course, always, Lou." 

* * * 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, lemme know what you guys think of the chapter. Kudos and comments are always lovely as are your very kind messages over tumblr and twitter!
> 
> Chapter 5 is going to have a little bit more of larry in it - finally. We're getting closer, darlings. 
> 
> see you! xx


	5. CHAPTER FIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sleeps over and Louis, for the first time in a long time, feels safe...

*** * * **

  
  


Harry is already tucked into bed when Louis returns from the bathroom. His arms are crossed behind his head and one naked leg is thrown over the blanket, looking right at home. He smiles at Louis, his eyes sleepy.

Louis swallows, his heart torn. Half of him regrets having asked Harry to stay over in his desperate attempt to not suffer another night on his own, while the other half is delighted that they get to spend so many more hours together after not seeing each other for some time. 

The regret is caused by two things: one, what if he starts sleepwalking right out of the room and Harry becomes a witness of this nonsense — though Harry already knows, it still would be highly embarrassing; two, seeing Harry in his bed, lazy and comfortable, stirs a slight fluttering sensation in the lower part of his belly and he isn’t sure if he can survive a night next to this very strange, very lovely, and very wonderful boy. Maybe it will be weird to sleep beside him. Maybe Harry sees it the same way, perhaps already having regrets too, wishing he hadn’t said yes to Louis’ plea so quickly.

They know each other only a little, after all.

The concern about Harry wanting to be anywhere but here is washed out of Louis’ system as Harry pats the empty spot next to him on the mattress and widens his smile. "Bed’s too cold without you," he murmurs. 

Louis’ lips twitch and he locks the door because it’d even be more awkward if his mother or — God forbid — Matt check on Louis to make sure everything is alright in the morning and find a strange boy with him in bed. That would be more humiliating than Harry seeing him walking around without a brain. 

"Matt said he’d get the internet running tomorrow. Maybe I can show you some of the covers Niall and I did on YouTube," Louis says to fill the silence that is pressing on his eardrums as he shuffles to the bed and crawls onto it, twisting his bum towards the headrest and angling his knees under the blanket. Sinking lower on the mattress until his head is pillowed nicely, he glances at Harry, swiping his fringe to the side and out of his eyes. 

"Sorry, Niall is who again?" Harry murmurs, rolling around and facing Louis with hooded eyes. 

Louis turns off the nightlight and mimics Harry, leaving them in soft moonshine. "My best mate. We live together and do performances and stuff…" 

"Cool, alright, looking forward to that," Harry says with a quiet smile, "It’s like a video or...something?" 

"Yeah, videos mostly. We make them in our flat, or sometimes if Perrie is up for it she’ll video-tape us at gigs. She’s studying film, so it's like a win-win situation. She also edits most of it. Perrie is a right genius, bless her." 

"You have a lot of friends in Bristol, don’t you?" 

"Uh, yeah…I guess." Louis purses his lips, pausing to list in his mind who he actually considers his friends and who he is just friendly with. "Mostly I hang with Niall and Perrie, though. There is also Stan, but he’s rather busy lately. Same goes for Andy. And from time to time Jade tags along — she’s Perrie’s girlfriend," he adds for clarity with a half-shoulder shrug. The movement causes his blanket to slip past his shoulder and he tugs it back up. "And obviously as of late Hannah too, since she’s now  _ kinda _ dating Niall." He grins at that,  _ ‘kinda’ _ is  _ kinda _ an understatement. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if Niall showed up with her at his doorstep for that promised visit. Hm. 

"Do you miss them?" Harry eyes him, pouting on his behalf. 

"Sometimes," Louis muses with a sigh. "It’s a bit lonely out here and I’m still wary about Matt." 

"Right, you told me," Harry whispers and itches his nose with the hem of the blanket. "I’ll miss you when you leave." 

Louis smiles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. "Aww, Haz, I’ll miss you too." 

"Haz…" Harry repeats slowly, "I really like that. No one else has ever given me a nickname." 

"I nickname everyone. My sister’s fiancé has a fluffy cat called Coco and I started calling her Coke or Cocaine just to piss them off. Lottie hates it." 

Harry chuckles. "Cocaine isn’t a shortened name for Coco. It’s already short on its own." 

"Still a nickname though. I think the cat likes it better than Coco _ .  _ She’s a white cat so it fits anyway."

He had also nicknamed Niall’s uncles’ bird, whose name is Ecco, to Ecstasy _ . _ Instead of scoffing at the name as Lottie usually does, Niall and his uncle merely find it amusing. When Louis walked past the living room the last time he visited, he heard Niall’s uncle calling the bird Ecstasy as well. It’s just silly fun, childish at best. 

"When I get a dog, I wanna name him Sirius. I want like a big black dog. That’d be  _ so _ sick." Louis smiles. “Honestly can’t wait for that.” 

"Why? I mean it’s a great name…" Harry’s eyebrows crinkle whilst Louis’ own raise in mild surprise. 

"Uh,  _ Harry Potter? _ " he says slowly, nodding a bit as if that would help the boy to suddenly remember. "You know? Sirius is his godfather and he shapeshifts into a massive black dog." 

"Is it like a movie or something?" 

Louis stares. Harry stares right back. 

"It’s…like the  _ biggest franchise to this day _ . I mean like really,  _ twenty-five billion  _ heavy — the author is richer than our  _ Queen _ , Harry…" 

"Seriously?" Harry blinks owlishly as his jaw slacks. "Just from like books? Bloody hell." 

"We definitely have to watch the movies together and I’ll see if we have the books still. After that you can read it too. It’s amazing, honestly. You’ll love it. It’s about witches and wizards, so right up your spooky alley." 

"Cool, okay. What is it about? Is it like super scary?" 

“Well maybe the later books, but still not very scary... it’s actually written for children. At least the first three, after that it turns pretty dark…” Louis briefly explains the plot of  _ Harry Potter _ , but doesn't do it justice and he, at the end, promises with reddened cheeks he will ask his mother for the books in the morning, because to Harry the plot must sound terrible the way Louis stumbled through it. He has read the book series three times — they were  _ literally _ the only books that could keep his attention span — but it’s been a while. To avoid spoilers, he left the best parts out which leaves only a faded storyline about a boy who discovers he is a wizard by the age of eleven and is doomed to save the wizarding world on his own with two amazing friends in tow.

Harry says he’s looking forward to it anyway, though Louis has no clue if he means it or is just saying so to please Louis. In the end it doesn’t matter because both are getting rather tired now and Louis’ brain turns to mush as his eyes droop until it gets harder to keep them open. 

"Sleep, Lou." 

"Wanna…talk to you some more…" Louis whispers, lips barely moving.

"I’ll be here when you wake up, don’t worry." 

"Hm…" 

"Goodnight Lou." 

"Night, H. Thank you…for staying." 

One last time, Louis glances at Harry, who is turned on his back and has his eyes already shut. It doesn’t take long for Louis to join him and he falls asleep feeling safer than he has since the sleepwalking started. 

* * * 

Louis is slowly surfacing from sleep, growing faintly aware of nearby noises. A door opens and closes, followed by more rustling…

Though he doesn’t want to, the urge to check what is going on wins the upper hand over sleep and rest, so with a deep inhale, he lets his eyelashes flutter open. He turns and scans the time on the clock on his nightstand. He hasn’t been out for long. They went to bed at one o’clock and now it’s around three A.M. 

Another noise brings his attention away from the time and he twists his upper body in Harry’s direction, his heart is seized by an electric shock feeling as he finds it empty.  _ Uh… _

Louis frowns and rolls his eyes, scrubbing a tired, heavy hand over his face. He yawns and sits up. Stepping around the bed, he finds Harry’s clothes on the floor in a mess of fabric, his shoes next to the cluster. 

Alright, well he doesn’t think Harry would skip out of here and make his way home in just his underwear. 

He considers waiting in his bedroom for Harry, but he has a feeling something is wrong and that feeling won’t let him sit around aimlessly. It’s rather unlikely that Harry has now started sleepwalking too but that very thought shoots through Louis’ mind and ends up waking him completely. 

He pads over to the door, peeking into the hallway. It’s empty. 

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he blinks several times and strains his hearing. He listens as a floorboard groans from his right and he steps out of his room, leaving the door ajar as he tiptoes in the direction of his bathroom. Softly, he knocks. When nobody answers, he pushes the door slowly open and has a look inside — no trace of Harry. There isn’t even any water in the washbasin or anything, which cancels out the theory that Harry went for a piss. 

Turning, he pulls on his bottom lip. Sleepwalking is becoming a more real possibility the longer Harry isn’t found. He spies down the corridor, being extra ninja-like and quiet as he passes his mother’s bedroom and takes the stairs, minding the floorboards that he knows make noise. 

Like the bathroom upstairs, the kitchen, the living room, and the office are empty, too. Louis spins on the spot with a hammering heart, opens the front door, and scans the driveway. 

The gate is closed, all the cars are parked, and there is no sign of a curly head. 

Okay...

He gives the barn a dirty, narrowed glare and psyches himself up to walk over and have a look inside, too. Louis doesn’t know if he wants to find Harry in there or not, but when he opens the door slowly, it reveals that Harry isn’t there either. 

So…he had left…in his underwear no less…in the middle of the fucking night. 

Harry is strange at times, but that strange? Louis doesn’t think so. Yet that’s the only left open possibility, innit? 

Fucking hell, this kid... 

If he didn’t want to stay over, he could have said so - it’s no biggie. Louis has survived so far without having Harry by his side. Or had he pressured Harry too much into staying and he was too nice to say so? 

It hurts. It does. 

Breathing out shakily, he comes to terms with that bizarre idea and swallows thickly. Fine. Fucking fine, so be it.  _ Whatever, innit? _

Just when he turns to go back to bed, a muffled noise emits into the air. At first he thinks it’s coming from the barn and watches it with wary eyes, half expecting to see the girl open the door and wave or something, but that doesn’t happen.

Louis stiffens and listens more closely, standing on tiptoes on his left foot, as he had just been about to take another step toward the stairs leading up to the front door. 

Then again, there is another sound — a voice talking quietly. It’s coming not from the inside of the barn, but from around it. 

Louis stills, frowning and holding his breath as he goes to the side of the brick barn. Leaning against the cold wall, he presses his palm to his mouth, releasing a quiet, shallow exhale through his nostrils. 

The voice speaks again and Louis recognises it directly. The slow, deep drawl is unmistakably Harry and his heart lifts in relief. So he didn’t steal himself away in the dead of the night. He isn’t sleepwalking and there was no emergency either. 

But just as relief has lifted his heart, confusion makes it sink a few levels lower until it swings into his belly. 

Who the fuck is he talking to? At this hour nonetheless? 

Holding his breath once more, he sidesteps a bit closer, his spine flattened against the cold bricks. 

" _ You can’t…just can’t, okay? _ " Harry is saying, his voice lowered. " _ Please. It’s not right, he’s hurt and you’re sca- _ " Harry’s voice drops even more, so Louis doesn’t catch the last, most important bit. 

No voice replies to Harry. It’s silent. 

Then Harry takes up talking once more, but Louis can’t understand a fucking thing. It’s a slurred murmur.

Louis blinks and as he tries to creep just a teeny bit closer, his bare foot steps onto a small piece of gravel stone and an uncomfortable pain shoots up his leg. His breath hitches in his throat and his eyes bulge, his mouth opening in a quiet, breathy wince, but that is enough for Harry to stop speaking altogether. 

Steps are coming Louis’ way and Harry passes him at first, but then, as if he could sense Louis, he turns and stares at him with shocked wide eyes. 

Maybe it’s the moonlight or from surprise, but Harry’s cheeks are drained of any blood. He looks like a ghost himself in the silvery light. 

"What are you doing down here?" Harry whispers, clearing his throat as he shifts. 

"I…" Louis swallows, "was looking for you. Woke up and you weren’t there so…" He shakes out his foot which is throbbing and grits his teeth, annoyed that something so tiny can cause such enormous pain. "I mean, what are you doing down here anyways? Who were you talking to?" 

Harry stiffens and loops his arms around his middle. "Nobody. I went for a walk because I couldn’t sleep." His frown deepens as he rasps his words, staring at Louis’ foot and avoiding his searching eyes. "Sorry if I woke you up." Harry shivers. 

"You were talking to someone," Louis says and steps away from the wall, considering the boy for a moment before moving around the barn, Harry hot on his heels. 

"Louis, don’t…" Harry pleads, fingers wrapping around Louis’ forearm to hold him back. His voice is throaty and desperate, but it does nothing except urge Louis on. “Let’s go back to bed, please. C’mon Lou.  _ It’s cold _ . You’ll get sick." 

Too bad Louis doesn’t care. 

Louis shakes his arm free and stops behind the brick building, his naked toes digging into grass and his lungs blow out air through his nostrils at the sight — there is no one.  _ Absolutely nobody. _ He blinks and scans the lawn. From where he is standing, he can see and hear the river, but it’s too dark to get a good look at anything. Yet he would notice a movement, but there is none either, only Harry’s breath behind him. 

"I told you," Harry says, his voice stronger and his narrowed green eyes greeting Louis as he rotates. "Nobody is here. Dunno what you’ve heard. Maybe it was just another weird sleepwalking episode - you’re being paranoid." 

His words hit Louis right in the gut, as if Harry had punched him physically. Hurt, he wraps his arms protectively around his ribs. "You’re saying I’m crazy? Is that it? Crazy?" 

"No, of course not. I believe you, Louis." 

"But you don’t, not really…" Louis shakes his head, chewing on his lip as his heart pulses in aching disappointment.

"Please, c’mon Louis… I didn’t mean it. But I also didn’t talk to anyone. I’m sorry." 

Louis drops his gaze to his feet, his shoulders shivering as the night breeze floats around him, ruffling his hair. 

"Okay," Louis says because it’s whatever. He slumps his shoulders, feeling stupid. "Let's go back to bed." 

"Are you mad?" Harry whispers as Louis passes him. "Are you mad at me? Don’t be, please." 

Louis grinds his teeth and walks to the front door. He is cold, tired, and annoyed, not a good combination. Perhaps Harry is right and he is just being paranoid. 

"Louis…" Harry holds his arms as he takes the first step upward. "C’mon…" 

When Louis glances over his shoulder, another round of shock is sent to his heart. It engulfs his body fully as he notices Harry’s eyes are glossed and wet, his bottom lip quivering dangerously. His body, which Louis found so tall earlier is now crumbled in on itself, making Harry look young, vulnerable, hurt, and small. 

The anger and frustration leaves Louis’ body in a big whoosh and he softens, if only a tad. "Let’s go upstairs. Don’t want to wake anyone up…" 

Harry nods and they both go to his bedroom in silence. 

"So…" Harry starts, standing in the middle of the room aimlessly and swinging his arms by his sides. "Are we okay? Okay enough to sleep in a bed together?" he jokes, but it falls flat. 

Louis huffs, sending him a wary look. "We’re good," he says and holds up his hand when Harry opens his mouth to reply, his eyes a bit brighter than before. "I was just worried. Perhaps I am going crazy," He mutters the last part under his breath and slips into bed, seeking the cozy warmth of his fluffy blanket. 

"I didn’t mean that, you know… I — I’m the mad one, honestly." Harry joins him under the covers. "I’m fucked up." 

"No, you’re not." 

"You don’t know me…" 

Well, that’s true. What exactly does Louis know about Harry besides his obsession with  _ Nirvana _ and that he is an extremely talented singer and genius guitar player himself — and not to forget his penchant for scary nonsense folktales. 

"So, tell me something about you that I don’t know already," Louis suggests. 

"There isn’t much to know about me." 

Louis rolls his eyes and turns his back to Harry. "Good night, then," he says and closes his lids. 

"No,  _ wait _ ," Harry touches his shoulder, his fingers gentle yet firm enough to get Louis to back around. "Ask me anything." 

"What’s wrong with your parents? What illness do they have?" That wasn’t the first question Louis wanted to ask but somehow his mind and mouth disconnected and it shot right out of him. It sounded harsh and unkind, but before Harry has time to react Louis backtracks, the edges of his tone soft. "Sorry, I mean, you said they are ill and… I’ve been wondering for a while and all. I don’t know…" he rambles on, never having been good with discussing illness or death or any of the bad stuff that happens to people. Louis wants to apologise but doesn’t know exactly what for. That is why he just clicks his mouth shuts and holds his breath, waiting. 

"It’s okay," Harry shrugs and slides his body lower. "We’re not close, actually. They are screwed in the head." 

"Don’t say that…" Louis murmurs, brows knitting together. He didn’t expect such disrespect from a kind guy like Harry. "They’re still your parents." 

Harry huffs coldly, fisting curls on top of his head as his chest heaves with a prolonged breath. "I wish they weren’t. I hate them so much." 

"Why though? Because they are ill?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well, it’s not their fault that they are now, innit?" Louis murmurs, not really following. He frowns. 

Harry shrugs, closing his eyes. "No, trust me. They aren’t nice people, at all. If you knew them you’d understand." 

"Why?" Louis coaxes. 

"Well," Harry speaks the word loud and short, "where the fuck do I start, huh?" he snaps, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling with intense, heated eyes. "In my childhood when they’d punish me and lock me away for…hours? When they took all my CDs away because they not only hated  _ Nirvana _ but all music and media in general? Or should I start with how they’d let grown men and women sleep in my room when I was around ten and it didn’t stop there? I don’t know, and now I’m stuck in this fucking… _ town _ because of  _ them _ . So no, Louis, they don’t deserve anyone’s pity - not mine, not yours. They are ill and I call them ill because calling them evil would be… too much. So let’s fucking go with ill since I have no other explanation as to why anyone would put a child through that." Harry’s chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, his hand now fisting a good amount of hair. He is staring at the ceiling, but is he seeing it truly? Louis guesses no, he is staring back into his past, far away. 

Louis swallows as the words, one after the other, rattle in his brain and leave his heart heavy, filled with sorrow and fear for the boy next to him. Whatever he had expected, this wasn’t it. He had figured that his parents were either bed-bound, depressed or…something of that sort, but hearing what Harry has confessed is unsettling to say the least. For once in his life, he has no idea what to say or how to react, so he doesn’t and just waits, sensing that Harry has more on his mind to share. 

He is right about that. 

"They are disgusting, the worst kind of humans. They ruined me, my life, my…" he shuts up and turns his head away from Louis, breathing out shakily. "They ruined everything and nobody cared, everyone saw what they did but… they didn’t… they…" He sniffs loudly and covers his mouth. "N-nobody fucking cared." 

_ Oh… oh Jesus… _

"H-Harry…" Unshed tears well up in his eyes and he reaches out, trembling, gently touching Harry’s shoulder.

Harry shakes him off and rolls his entire body away from Louis, hiding his face in his pillow as silent sobs wreck his frame.

"Harry…I’m…" Louis swallows thickly, overcome with overwhelming emotions too. He tries once more to get Harry to face him but it has no effect. Giving up, he scoots closer towards his back and starts stroking over Harry’s bare arm and — because he has no clue how else to show him that he is here and cares, perhaps years too late, but still — he leans forward and kisses Harry’s exposed shoulder blade. The tender skin is warm under his lips and he kisses it again, breathing out through his nose as he backtracks slowly and continues stroking from Harry’s arm to his neck and sinks his fingers into Harry’s hair, petting it. He hopes it will help Harry to calm, to soften the tears, his pain. "I’m here…" he whispers in a pressed, bristling voice, his throat lodged with a lump that won’t budge no matter how many times he swallows. "I’m here… It’s okay, I’m here… shh…shh…" 

Harry sobs, sobs, and sobs as Louis caresses his inked arm, softly, watching over him and making soothing noises. His heart twists and breaks as Harry sniffs wretchedly. 

"I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I… I…" Harry presses his thumb and index into his closed lids and turns onto his back, trying to collect his breath.

Louis backs off, giving him more space and bedding his cheek on his palm, his elbow propped on the mattress. He blinks away tears of his own.

"I didn’t mean to overshare. This is so  _ stupid _ . I’m sorry, don’t be mad, I’m being stupid, melodramatic...don’t be mad, ple—" 

Louis covers Harry’s mouth. Wet, green eyes widen, boring into his. "Don’t you dare call yourself stupid. Don’t apologise, love. It’s okay… Let it out, it’ll make it better." His voice is thin but his words are true nonetheless. Louis’ palm heats as Harry exhales deeply. 

Louis releases his mouth. "It’s fine, love, you’re fine," he repeats. 

"You aren’t mad?" Harry mumbles, wiping tears off his cheeks. 

"Why would I be? C’mon now…" Louis purses his lips, his eyebrow dipping lower. "You’re safe. With me you are." 

Harry stares at him like he doesn’t understand what those words mean before he mumbles a quiet, "okay," and rolls onto his side, sliding closer to Louis and taking his hand. 

"Why can’t you leave them?" Louis asks after few beats of silence, watching Harry play with his fingers. An idea so stupid, so silly, and out of nowhere forms in his overworked brain. "This is a ridiculous idea, I know, but hear me out. Why don’t you come with me to Bristol? You can crash at my flat. It’s not that big but we have loads of people who sometimes sleep over, and Niall wouldn’t mind. I  _ swear _ it, Niall is super lovely. I bet you guys would get along amazingly well, and if you’d like we can figure something out where to go from there…" 

It seems to be the wrong thing to say because Harry breaks again and covers his face with both hands, sobbing into his palms as Louis stares at him with wide eyes. Should he not have said that? But what does someone say to any of this? Perhaps it was too much, too soon. They haven’t known each other for long, but Harry is in pain and he hates this town so… any place would be better right? Okay, this was stupid, so stupid. Louis crossed a boundary here. Of course Harry wouldn’t jump at it and —  _ what was Louis thinking?  _

Goddamn it. 

"Shh, Harry… please," Louis hushes, trying to uncover Harry’s face. "I…you don’t have to, obviously. I mean that was just a random pretty spontaneous idea. I can ask around, maybe Perrie knows someone who’s looking for a flatmate or something." At that, Harry cries even harder and Louis decides it’s best to shut up and wait for him to calm down.

It’s all concerning, honestly. Louis never has been in such a heart-ripping situation, never seen anyone cry this painfully. Lottie cried when her first boyfriend broke things off and Louis had comforted her quite well. Once Perrie got into a fight with someone and they slapped her right in the face. She cried, but Louis was by her side, also successfully calming her down - before tracking down that arsehole with Niall and Stan and calling the police on him. They  _ barely _ stopped themselves from kicking him, none of them being a fan of violence, but they all saw red that night, Perrie being out of her mind. 

This though, Harry crying with his entire being, his body shaking, and more and more tears leaving his clenched shut eyes, is something else… raw, gut-ripping and heart-tearing. Louis is at a loss, feeling powerless to help Harry through it. He wishes he knew how to make it better. 

It takes a while but slowly Harry’s sobs ebb into huffs. He swallows a few forceful times, inhaling and exhaling wetly though his parted lips, sniffing his runny nose. 

He blinks at Louis, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes glossy and careful, looking worried. " _ Shit _ ," Harry’s voice is raspy and levels deeper. He rubs over his eyes. "Stop talking or I swear I’ll bawl a  _ fucking _ river, Lou." 

Oh. 

_ Ouch _ . 

"I’m…sorry," Louis says, perplexed, taken aback. Of course he has no goddamn right to be hurt over this, but his heart still tugs violently with a wounded ache. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and starts chewing on it. He had only meant good, with all his heart. He saw his friend in pain and all he wanted was to help, to make it better.

"No, I… okay, shit. That came out  _ so _ wrong, I…" Harry swallows, flipping onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow, muffling a grunt. 

Louis eyes him, not knowing what to do. He guesses Harry is about to break and cry again, but then Harry pushes himself onto his forearms and stares at Louis so intensely that all of air leaves his lungs. 

Out of nowhere, Harry leans forward and seals their lips into a crushing, hard kiss. 

Louis is so stunned that he has no time to react, puzzled. He blinks at Harry as he leans back. 

"What?" Louis’ lips flap open and closed, his index finger touching where his bottom lip tingles with a phantom touch. 

"You’re so fucking nice…." Harry murmurs, scooting over to Louis. "Why are you so nice to me?"

"No, Harry… wait," he blinks, pushing against Harry’s chest as Harry cups his neck to bring their faces closer together. " _ Wait a second _ ." 

Harry blinks, eyes big and confused. "Don’t you want to?" he whispers, kissing a spot next to Louis’ chin. His lips are soft. Louis’ skin prickles. It gets harder to catch a clear thought. 

"I…" Louis, for a moment, loses his thoughts altogether. Having Harry so close is consuming his senses, the heat of the other boy’s body wrapping around his own like it's a cozy cocoon. For a second, all Louis wants to do is sink into that very feeling, seek togetherness himself, making both of them forget about the night and wipe out any trace of sadness. "I…" 

Harry kisses him again, this time softer, with closed lips. He breathes out through his nose, the sound loud between them and Louis shudders against Harry, parting his lips, tasting Harry on his tongue. It feels good, too good. Louis sighs.

Not a second later, the situation boomerangs, slapping him right in the face and he recoils, bringing a sudden distance between their bodies. 

Harry’s hand, that had been cupping the back of Louis’ neck, flops onto the mattress with a dull sound. 

"Sorry, I can’t." Louis says with a thin voice whilst his heart protests loudly. Worry is stronger than need and desire and he  _ can’t _ … not yet, not now, not when Harry had wept next to him minutes ago. The image of that is too fresh in his mind and  _ hell _ , Harry’s cheeks are still wet and… no this isn’t right. Louis would hate himself if they went further, would feel like he was abusing Harry’s vulnerability. 

"Why…" Harry whispers, his tone inconsolable and small. "I thought —" 

"No, yes, you thought right." Louis is quick to smooth Harry’s worries, wanting there to be no doubt that they are on the same page.

"What is it, if it’s not that?" 

"Harry…" 

"Yes?" 

"I…" Louis stops and starts again, his mind racing. "You were crying your heart out and…" 

Harry sighs and flops onto his back, running a hand through his hair. "I can’t Louis. Your offer is the kindest thing anyone has ever… done for me, let alone the idea of being able to pack my things and go with you, to build a life elsewhere…is…" he licks his lips, swallowing, "amazing. I’d go tonight, tomorrow…next week, hell, yesterday, even." 

"So…let’s do it. Come with me…" Louis whispers, moving closer to Harry and leaning over him, bedding his arm on Harry’s chest. "We can pack our things tomorrow, I don’t care. I have a car, my mum will understand. I can come back another time." He shrugs and smiles softy at Harry who is watching him with hooded eyes. 

Harry swallows and stares past Louis at the ceiling, bringing his arm up to stroke Louis’ spine. 

"I don’t want to see you in so much sorrow, H, it’s not right," he murmurs. 

Harry chuckles, wiping below his eyes with his free hand. "I can’t…" he whispers. 

"Why? If your parents are the way you described them… then… why?" Louis doesn’t want to sound whiny or ignorant but running away with Harry — well, in a way, at least — was already a wonderful picture painted in his mind. 

He imagines them going with Niall to their favourite pub, Louis showing him around Bristol, taking him to his favourite record store, his favourite spots, inviting him into his group of friends — who will all  _ love _ Harry, Louis just knows — and Harry could be happy there, no matter if he and Louis remain friends or… move on to something more, which would be lovely. Louis can still feel Harry’s lips on his. 

"It’s complicated," Harry breathes, bringing his chin to his chest to make eye contact with Louis. "I can’t, Louis, though I would love to. Really, really would love to. But…I can’t." Louis senses that Harry is getting worked up again and cups his cheek, rubbing his thumb tenderly over his cheekbone. 

"Shh… it’s okay. If it doesn’t work out, it’s okay…it was just a silly idea." 

"It’s not though," Harry says, "I… just…" 

"Can’t, I get it," Louis says, not unkindly. "I understand."

"You don’t…" Harry whispers. 

"So tell me." 

"I…"

"Can’t," Louis finishes for him, repeating the word with a mute sigh. "You don’t have to explain yourself to me," he says for both of their sakes and brings his chin to Harry’s chest. "It’s okay." 

"Thank you." 

"You’re welcome in Bristol at any time, if you ever change your mind. Gimme a call and I’ll pick you up, if you’d like that." 

"Thank you…" Harry repeats lowly. "Thank you…" 

"Stop, I’m not doing anything." Louis rolls his eyes, chuckling self-consciously. 

"Still, it’s nice. You’re wonderful, Louis." 

Louis’ smile grows, and Harry returns it. Even when his quivers a tad, it’s still a smile and a bloody beautiful one at that. Harry is beautiful.

"Tell you what," Louis says, "I’m here now and I’ll be back for winter break. We can hang out as much as you’d like and I’ll drag Lottie’s — that’s my sister by the way — arse here and Niall’s too and all together we will have the best time, okay? Winter in this town must be quite a sight, yeah? Is that a deal or what?" 

"Deal," Harry murmurs, a dimpled, sincere smile on his lips. "Oh, definitely a deal."

* * * 

The few hours of sleep Louis got from such a turbulent night paid off nonetheless. Since on Friday he hadn’t slept well due to his wanderings to that bloody, annoying barn. When he stretches the next day, he feels like relaxed mush. He enjoys the feeling of being pulled out of his slumber by light, warm sunshine on his face and scrunches his nose, wiggling it before scratching it with his index. He wants to stay in this bubble for as long as possible, but as his mind resurfaces from bittersweet darkness and pictures of last night pop in like fireworks behind his still closed lids, the urge to turn his head gets stronger, overpowers the coziness that had spread through his body, and wins at last. 

He glances to his side and sure enough, his heart inhales a cloud of relief as he sees Harry still sleeping closely next to him. Every pinch of pain is washed off from his sharp, angelic features and he appears to be the picture perfect version of tranquillity itself with no worry lines wrinkling his forehead, no trace of tears wetting his cheeks, no cries shaking his shoulders. 

Harry’s curls are a mess, all over the place and tangled. His lips are parted, letting baby puffs of air in and out, snoring just a bit. It’s cute. Louis bites down on his smile. 

Louis can’t help himself and reaches out slowly and deliberately, tracing the strong line of Harry’s jawline until he gets to the sharp bone by his ear, which is poking out of his hair, and he lets his finger creep to his chin, touching the tiny dimple between his chin and lower lip. 

Harry’s breathing stops and Louis, too, holds air trapped inside his lungs. His eyes flicker to Harry’s closed lids, seeing his eyes moving underneath them. 

Harry puffs and goes lax and Louis swipes his thumb with a barely-there touch over Harry’s bottom lip. Harry’s skin is soft, very much so, and there are no signs of any stubble like on Louis’ cheeks and jawline. It’s a reminder for him to shave soon if he doesn’t want a full-grown beard by the end of summer. 

He withdraws his hand and covers a yawns. 

"Hmm… why did you… stop?" Harry murmurs, lips moving just enough to get the words out. "Felt good…" 

Louis giggles huskily. 

A very sleepy, very lazy smile creates itself on Harry’s lips, but he still keeps his eyes closed. 

Louis touches Harry’s jawline with all five fingertips, caressing up and down, over his cheek, stroking the back of his nose, and tickling him softly below his chin until Harry huffs a chuckle and catches Louis’ hand blindly with his, interlocking their fingers and bringing their knot of knuckles to the safety of his chest. 

"Good morning," Louis murmurs, clearing his throat to lose the raspiness that clings to it. 

Harry blinks his lashes and instantly makes eye contact with Louis. Two green beams take Louis’ breath away. "The best morning," Harry says, lifting his head and bedding it on Louis’ pillow, wrapping his free arm around Louis’ shoulder. "The very best morning." 

Louis smiles into Harry’s skin and nuzzles his nose against him. "I guess I agree." 

Harry draws his head back, squeezing his left eye shut. “You guess?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“So,” Harry’s smile grows, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “You guess that you guess that you agree?” 

Louis rolls his eyes to the ceiling, but he can’t suppress a chuckle vibrating in his chest. “I guess.” 

They fall into quiet laughter. 

Harry hums, sliding his large hand to the smaller part of Louis’ back, pushing Louis flush against his body in one graceful movement. 

Louis’ heart starts beating in an uneven rhythm as he holds his breath, not knowing what to expect next nor what to do himself. 

"Can we stay in bed all day?" Harry murmurs. Their noses are close, the tips bumping.

"We can," Louis says, although he knows it won’t work because they aren’t in Bristol, locked away from the world in Louis’ bedroom, but rather with Louis’ family which sooner or later - and  _ pretty please _ later - will come knocking if Louis hasn’t shown his face downstairs around lunchtime. Matt and Jay still are concerned about him and watch him with wary eyes whenever he joins them. He hates that his brain, in a moment like this, reminds him of such unpleasant silly shit, yet it’s a needed wake up call too. "No, we actually can’t," Louis moans, rolling his eyes. 

"We can try." Harry shrugs a single shoulder. 

Louis bobs his head, wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips. 

Harry pouts, putting even more pressure on Louis’ spine. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, his gaze flickering to Louis’ lips, snapping back to his eyes not a beat later. 

Louis grinds his teeth as heat drips from his head and settles in his tummy as it flutters with nerves. "Yes…" he whispers, his tongue dry. 

Neither of them moves a muscle, both waiting for the other to make the first move. 

Louis breaks into a chuckle, his gaze darting away before it returns to Harry. He’s being bashful and awkward and he knows it, yet he can’t shake it off. It has been a good while since he was so close to another boy and…  _ fuck it.  _

Louis leans forward, cupping Harry’s cheek and asks for another affirmation from Harry if this is okay, which comes in the form of a tiny nod that finally brings their lips together. 

The kiss is gentle, capturing the morning in its totality. 

Louis presses his closed lips softly against Harry’s. It’s merely a peck, sweet and short. Harry kisses him back just as tenderly, as if both are too aware that this is the first kiss shared without an emotional reason behind it - no tears, no pain, only them seeking closeness. 

His hand wanders from Harry’s cheek to his neck, lifting the side of his body a bit and pressing against his chest with a reserved sigh.

Harry strokes Louis’ spine with a ghostlike touch, his breath warm on Louis’ face. His lips peck Louis several times, creeping to his jawline and to his cheek, always closed, always gentle and careful, like he too is testing the waters, seeing how far he can go before Louis would put a halt to it. 

Louis won’t. That’s the thing. 

Harry is everywhere. 

Louis adores it, seeking more of him in every way that he can, growing more greedy, desperate. As Harry brings their lips together once more, Louis dares to open his mouth and darts out his tongue, letting it flick over Harry’s lower lip in teasing kitten licks until Harry shudders against him, the rhythm of his strokes on Louis’ heated skin faltering. Just when Louis is about to withdraw, Harry parts his lips and Louis’ tongue slips on top of Harry’s. 

He sinks into the warmth, the feeling of Harry’s tongue, the taste of slumber that clings to both of their mouths, the way that Harry’s fingers dig into his shoulder as if he needs something to hold on to. Louis’ heart opens for this lovely boy in his bed and all he wants is to crawl beneath Harry’s skin and nest his home there, just to be endlessly closer, to be a part of him. 

At that thought Louis’ stomach swirls as a thousand butterflies wake up and cause his insides to flutter. 

It’s too much. Too soon. 

Louis’ breath comes out shakily from his nose as Harry’s tongue rolls over his, teasing him as Louis had done to him before. 

With a fuzzy mind, which is hanging up somewhere in the sky, Louis collects himself and gently unseals their lips from one another as withdraws, allowing air to return between them. 

Harry follows him, eyes shut and his lips seeking for Louis. 

Louis swallows, his heart thundering so loud that Harry must be able to hear it, too. He considers the boy for a second before smiling and instead of kissing Harry’s lips, licking the tip of his nose just like he had done yesterday evening. 

Apparently not having expected that, though he should have, Harry flutters his eyes open and laughs lowly, caught off guard and puzzled. He rubs the wetness away and scrunches his nose adorably at Louis. 

"C’mere…" Louis murmurs, turning onto his backside and opening the blanket as invitation for Harry to join him underneath the covers. He can practically see the wheels spinning in Harry’s probably still gooish brain. It takes another second for him to get the hint and when he does, his eyes light up the room more than the sun does and he cuddles close, sliding his leg between Louis’ and bedding his head on Louis’ chest. Immediately, he starts drawing soft patterns on Louis’ stomach, causing goosebumps to raise. Louis covers them both with the duvet. 

"This is nice…." Harry sighs, kissing Louis’ neck. His lips linger for so long that a tickling sensation spreads on the back of Louis’ neck and he resists the urge to protect the sensitive spot. 

"It is…" Louis exhales, mimicking what Harry has done to him before and stroking his back tenderly, up and down, up and down, just his fingertips. It’s calming and Louis goes lax on his mattress. "Very much so…" he adds, pecking the top of Harry’s head and feeling so much closer to the boy than he ever has in his life to another person. That thought causes his fingers to stutter in their rhythm and his gaze darts to the side, seeing nothing, blinking rapidly. 

It’s been a bit over one and a half weeks since he first met Harry. It’s too soon to develop feelings so strong that they threaten to consume his heart, fill it, let it swell to the size of his body. How could this have happened? How is it possible for him to have fallen already, this quickly? 

It’s more of a crash than a fall. Heart first, head second, right down the rabbit hole that had started to build the moment this breathtaking boy scared the shit out of Louis by appearing out of nowhere in this very room, talking utter nonsense about ghosts and haunted houses and  _ oh I beg to differ. _

Louis swallows. 

He isn’t falling in love. He’s crashing right into it. Crashing in love — Harry would appreciate the joke. 

The muscle in his chest that keeps him alive races.

_ Slow down, just slow down. Jesus. _

He’s getting way ahead of himself. 

It’s no good. 

_ It’s so not good, oh Christ. _

"What’s wrong?" Harry asks. 

Of course, just of course Harry has noticed how Louis tensed for one tiny second. They are so close that he can probably hear the panic radiating off his mind in waves. 

He lifts his face, taking Louis’ chin between thumb and index. His eyes search for an answer that Louis isn’t sure he is ready to admit aloud -  _ too soon, too soon, _ a little voice chants in trepidation,  _ too fucking soon _ . 

"Nothing, just thinking…" he says, tapping his own temple as if Harry wouldn’t know one thinks with a brain and mustering a smile for good measure. "Don’t worry about it…" 

"It’s not about anything I said last night… is it?" Harry asks. 

_ Right _ . 

Right that happened. 

Louis hasn’t forgotten, how could he? Although he has to admit that at this hour of the day, in such a pleasant mood and with Harry here, safe and sound, it had slipped his mind, pushed away to make space for thoughts about lips and green eyes, exposed skin and a wonderful closeness under the duvet. 

Now that Harry has mentioned their talk, his confession about his parents and what had happened to him - well Louis hopes it has stopped, but there is still a disturbing chance it hasn’t - it opens a door that Louis tried to block with an imaginary chair until later, when he has a cigarette in his mouth and clothes on his body, but there is no going back now, is there? 

Perhaps it’s the right time though. The thought has poked a thick needle through his heart and brings him sweeping down to earth from cloud nine. 

The sun is out and maybe it will soften the hard edges while the blanket gives them the illusion of safety and secrecy. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Louis asks, not knowing if he actually wants to. Still, it will be better once they put it behind them so they can step forward, finding a solution hand-in-hand. Louis has never had to save anyone from anything like that but he swears to God — if there is a God — he will try his best to better Harry’s life, if that’s something he is allowed to do - if Harry wants him to and at least lets him try. 

"Not really," Harry pulls a grimace, "like I said, there isn’t a lot of interesting stuff about me." 

Louis inhales a bunch of air to protest, but Harry covers his mouth. "I mean it," Harry says, "my parents are class one arseholes but we can’t do shit about that. The same goes with me leaving this town - there is no way and no matter what plan we come up with, it won’t work. It’s the way it is. I’m not okay with it, you’re not okay with it, but we have to be." Harry takes a massive swallowing breath and carries on, eyebrows furrowed. "I mean, what I want is to spend time with you and get to know you and… just be with you, okay? Because you’ll leave in a few weeks and I don’t know if we’ll see each other again, so I want to make this count so you won’t forget me, won’t ever forget me when you’re back home with all your amazing friends doing all those amazing things you do because you’re amazing and I really—" He clicks his teeth shut, letting go of Louis’ chin and ruffles his hair with puffed out cheeks. "I always say too much. Someone has to shut me up, I mean it." He rolls his eyes at himself and groans. "What I’m trying to say is—" 

"I know what you’re saying," Louis interrupts, his cheeks hurting because he’s smiling too much. "I’m up for that and…" he frowns, averting his gaze, "I won’t forget you, ever… you’re pretty hard to forget, I reckon." 

Harry returns his smile, boyish and young and so damn pretty that Louis just has to kiss his nose. 

"And Harry," Louis starts, his voice careful but serious, "if you’d like to share more of your past or whatever - anything, everything, whatever - I’m here and if you’d like we can talk all night, all day. I am here."

Harry’s eyes drop, and he nods a few times in tiny motions. "Thanks," he murmurs, poking Louis’ chest with a long, slender finger. "Thank you…" 

"Please stop saying thank you a million and one times," 

"Sorry…" 

"Harry," Louis chuckles, his head sinking forward, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck with a faux-groan. "Please, for the love of God, you don’t have to thank me and neither do you have to apologise. It’s all fine, okay? Seriously." 

"I can’t help it, I just…." Harry laughs gingerly, rubbing the back of Louis’ head, "have this urge…deep inside my chest to either apologise or say thank you. It just… it’s like…" apparently not finding the words to describe it properly, he leaves his sentence hanging between them. Then, as Louis draws his head back, Harry bites his lip and after a pause, shouts out: " _ Sorry! _ " 

Louis laughs, slapping his shoulder. "Fine, you’re allowed to say sorry and thank you all the time, but please know  _ you don’t have to. _ You can just be yourself with me, unapologetically, always. Don’t hold any part of yourself back. I wanna know  _ all _ of you." 

Harry blinks and Louis spots some wetness in the corner of his eyes. Before Harry gets too wrapped up in any of what Louis just said and probably went too far with, he draws Harry into a crushing kiss, wanting to suck the sadness right out of him, make it better, and bring them back to how they were when they woke up. 

Harry is quick to react and goes lax in Louis’ arms, a moan breaking out of him instead of an apology, which Louis prefers much better. He, too, relaxes into Harry and gets so into their kiss, into Harry, into his smell and the way he moans and groans and turns needier the longer their lips touch and touch again and again, that he nearly misses footsteps and is ripped out of his little happy bubble as several loud booming knocks echo from the door around the room. It sends a wave of shock not only through Louis, who blinks wide-eyed at Harry, but also through Harry, the same caught-off-guard expression reflected on the other boy’s face. 

"Louis?" 

Fear turns to sheer panic as it’s not his mother calling out for him, but no other than Matt. 

"Louis!" 

They both stare at each other, holding their breath. Louis brings his index to his lips, signalling Harry to be silent as he collects himself. 

"Yes, y-yeah?" he calls, his voice higher than usual. Harry pulls an  _ oh-shit _ face. 

"Are you still in bed?" 

"I am, what’s up?" 

"The guy for the WiFi is coming around eleven." 

Louis represses his remark of a snappy,  _ 'and _ ?' rolling his eyes instead and pulling a funny grimace, sticking out his tongue. It’s a mistake, sending Harry into a fit of giggles. Louis slaps his palm over Harry’s mouth, trying to repress his own laughter, but then Harry has the nerve to lick his hand as his green eyes light in silly humour. Louis huffs a chuckle, wrinkling his nose at him, rubbing the spit off on his covers as Harry falls face down into the pillow, stuffing the fabric into his mouth to keep quiet. His body is shaking and it sets Louis, too, into wheezy giggles. 

Goddamnit. Harry is adorable and why the hell is it so hard not to laugh when you’re supposed to be quiet? 

It’s not that funny. It’s not— 

"O-okay!" he calls, his voice quivering with laughter. 

Harry rolls onto his stomach and kind of plays dead or something - he doesn’t know exactly and that makes everything even funnier. Breaking completely, he throws himself on top of Harry’s back, laughing. 

"What are you doing in there?" Matt asks. He too seems to be laughing, although confusedly. 

"Nothing. Lottie sent me a funny text!" Louis calls, feeling Harry’s spine vibrate on his front. 

"Alright. Anyway, breakfast is ready too if you’d like some." 

"Thanks!" 

After a moment, his footsteps walk away and they both break into another fit of giggles, Louis still on top of Harry and Harry still with his mouth full of pillow. 

"I feel like I’m back in my teenage years, living at home and sneaking a boy in, damn. Forgot how much anxiety it causes…" Louis says, rightening himself and releasing Harry from his weight. 

"That was fun," Harry says, breathing heavily. "Should do that another time…" 

Louis gives him an eye roll just to let him know how much he’d like that and Harry breaks into soft chuckles, turning and flattening his back against the mattress with a cat-like stretch. Louis can’t take his eyes off of him. It’s a sight he will take to his grave, that’s for sure. 

He shakes his head at himself. 

_ Pull yourself together. _

"What’s going to happen now?" Harry asks as Louis slips out of bed and ambles to his closet to get some fresh clothes ready for the day. He feels Harry’s eyes on his half-naked body like two spotlights and his nape grows hot. 

"Nothing, dunno…" Louis murmurs, searching for something cozy. "Do you want breakfast?" he asks, pulling on shorts. 

"What, with your parents?" Harry asks, taken aback, lifting his brows. "Seriously?"

Louis gives a shrug. "I can bring us brekkie upstairs?" 

"Hm, I’m not  _ that _ hungry," Harry says, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest, looping his arms around them. "Don’t trouble yourself with it. Go downstairs and I’ll just…chill until you’re done." 

Louis frowns deeply at him, not liking that one bit. "No way, don’t be silly." 

Harry smiles. "It’s okay. Probably gonna nap - your bed is comfy." 

For a long moment they stare at each other. Harry’s eyes tell Louis that,  _ really it’s okay  _ and Louis’ eyes question back,  _ are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure?  _

"Go, you’ll be back sooner if you get going. Don’t worry about me," Harry says, nodding along to his words. "Besides if you don’t go downstairs, they will probably come looking for you or summat and we can’t have that, innit?" 

Harry has a point, but Louis still leaves him with a heavy heart, twitching with guilt. 

* * *

"Ben is getting a divorce…" Matt says just as Louis enters the kitchen. 

"That’s so sad," his mother replies with a prolonged sigh. "I liked Sophia. She had great cake recipes." Her eyes skip to Louis and a smile hushes over her lips. "Look who crawled out of his hole. Good morning, honey. We have some scrambled eggs left." 

"Thanks," Louis says, taking a plate out of the hanging cabinet and moving over to the stove, serving himself two spoonfuls of eggs then shuffling over to the table. As he helps himself to toast, he realises that he has an audience. "What?" he asks, glancing up briefly as they still are watching him. He can’t pinpoint their expressions. "What’s the matter?" 

"Nothing, nothing…" Matt says and takes a sip out of his cup, averting his eyes to the surface of the kitchen table. 

"Louis, hun, you can’t skip meals like that." 

"I’m eating?" Louis frowns, his toast loaded with eggs, halfway to his mouth. 

"Yesterday," his mother tuts, "you know what the doctor said." 

"He also said I should sleep as long as I can and you still woke me up," he says matter-of-factly. 

Matt and Jay share a gaze. 

"What?" Louis snaps, fearing they saw Harry or heard them this morning or yesterday. He has no idea how thick the walls are — thick enough to muffle Harry’s crying, he hopes. But that very hope vanishes as his mother looks at him with deep concern.

Oh no, oh no, they don’t think… 

"Are you okay?" Jay asks, touching his forearm. 

Yep, they do…

Louis swallows and puts his toast down. If there ever was a good time to use his best acting skills, it is now. He gives a fragile shrug. "No, I’m not," he lies, casting his gaze down. "I just had a rough night, that’s all…" 

"Do you want to talk about it?" his mother asks. Matt gets up and brings his cup and plate to the dishwasher and disappears without another word to God knows where, giving them space. 

"Not really…" Louis murmurs, still keeping his eyes lowered. "I just…" he breathes, "I had a nightmare, mum." He lets his voice quiver, praying it comes across as sad. 

It seems to work because his mother sighs, the sound as worried as her expression is. "Oh no, what about?" 

Shit. 

Uh— 

"I…watched Niall…" he starts, straining his brain to kick start and spit out some weird arse story, "get bitten by…" he swallows. "I can’t tell — it's too gruesome, really. Loads of blood. Couldn’t help him. Was forced to watch him...get bitten." He shrugs, cringing inwardly at himself — he just should have gone with falling into darkness or a dream where he loses his teeth or summat, that at least wouldn't have been such an unbelievable mess. His mind works in a weird way. He twists his face by accident but it fits, probably looking like he is remembering some details and his mother pats his shoulder in sympathy.

"Poor Niall…" his mum says, totally buying into it, "but thankfully it’s just a  _ nightmare _ . Niall is fine, honey, just forget about it. It’s probably caused by your anxiety about the sleepwalking." 

"Hm, guess so. I will try to forget, but mum, it was horrible.” He shakes his head dramatically, widening his eyes. 

“I’m sorry you had a bad night.” 

“Yeah…” 

They leave it at that and finally Louis is allowed to eat his lukewarm breakfast, the toast already sadly cold. 

His mother watches him as he wolfs it down without stopping and lifts her brows mildly as his plate is clean in five minutes, tops.

"Do you have to be somewhere?" she asks innocently. 

"Well, I skipped meals yesterday. I was  _ starving _ ."

She clicks her tongue and doesn’t comment as he brings his plate to the dishwasher and loads it. 

"The guy for the WiFi is coming in a bit. Since neither Matt nor I will be present, you’ll have to show him around." 

Louis halts in his movement. 

Great — fucking great. He doesn’t need WiFi  _ that bad  _ if that means it shortens his time with the boy who is waiting for him upstairs in bed —  _ in bed, hello…  _

He pulls himself together with a calming inhale. "Where will you be?" 

"Matt’s gonna sign the contract for his business location." 

"Okay, okay… that’s great. I’ll show the electrician around, it’s fine," Louis muses with a pout. 

"Thanks, darling. We’ll be having dinner together tonight and it would be lovely if you’d join us." 

"Hm…" Louis hums but as his mother sends him a daring look he backtracks and nods in surrender. "Am I excused?" 

She considers him for a moment and he puts on an innocent mask. Her shoulders slump and she nods, "Sure, later." 

"Later," Louis repeats, short and final, before dashing up the stairs. 

He slows his pace in the hallway to not alarm anyone downstairs who might hear his fast steps, and stills completely in front of his bedroom, his hand hovering over the door handle as his heartbeat picks up speed. A wave of nervousness soaks his body and he swallows, having to psych himself up to open his own bedroom door. 

It’s ridiculous. 

The bed is empty. His heart tumbles to the floor.

For one panicked moment, he thinks Harry has just left - that Louis took too long - but a movement by the balcony door causes his shoulders sag in relief. He closes the door behind him and just to be safe, locks it as well. The way Jay had looked at him tugs at the paranoid feeling inside his gut. 

Harry is outside on the balcony, sitting with his back to the house wall and a lit fag trapped between his lips. He looks up when he sees Louis in the doorway and smiles around the filter. "Hi." 

"Hey," Louis joins him on the ground and leans across Harry to get the packet of his cigarettes between his fingers. He takes one out and lights it, inhaling much-needed nicotine. It relaxes his mind instantly. He considers telling Harry that they heard him, but decides that’d be kind of a dick move and swallows it down with another drag of smoke. 

"I couldn’t fall back asleep," Harry says, fume joining his words. 

Louis nods, drawing his knees to his chest. "Matt and my mum gonna leave in a while, so like if you want breakfast, you can eat something when this guy comes over to get the WiFi going." 

"Thank you," Harry says, tapping the butt of his cigarette. Ash flies through the air, swirling around and getting partly stuck in his curls. He doesn’t seem to notice, and of course that is the only reason why Louis darts his hand out to poke the little grey piece with his fingers until it sticks underneath his fingernails. He rubs it off on his joggers.

"I could bring you some coffee up, though, or do you prefer tea?" Louis asks, kind of feeling bad about Harry having to wait it out. He hopes it doesn’t make Harry feel unwanted. He will definitely talk to Jay about Harry once they are back in the evening. Perhaps next time, Harry won’t have to sneak around and hide on the balcony pretending to be a ghost. Louis has every right to have someone over. 

"Ah," Harry nods, "tea would be lovely, but seriously don’t worry about me. I got through a good amount of your cigarettes, that does it just fine." 

Louis shrugs. "Well, I can’t, like, force you to drink or eat anything." It still sits wrong with Louis and the moment he hears his parents leave, he dashes downstairs to make them two cups of tea. He wants Harry to feel comfortable here, like he has everything he needs. Especially after what Harry told him about his parents and the way he looks — his collarbones sharp and the knot of his spine on his neck very much visible — worries Louis. He guesses that at home he isn’t taken care of the way he should be and perhaps never learned to take care of himself either. 

They drink their tea, but don’t have as much time alone together as they’d like. The doorbell interrupts their discussion about different kinds of guitars and Louis’ dream of owning a vintage Fender Player guitar from the Jaguar PF TPL series, which Harry wholeheartedly agrees with. 

Honestly, Louis had expected an older man, someone around Matt’s age perhaps, wearing work clothes and with a huge tool box. What he finds as he opens the door is instead a boy his age with puppy brown eyes and an apprehensive smile on his lips.

"Hello. I’m here for the WiFi," the lad says speaking properly and upbeat, stretching his hand out for a shake directly. 

“Oh yeah, sure,” Louis says, noticing with a slight dip of his eyebrows that this guy’s hand is trembling against his skin. He doesn’t comment on it though, guessing he is just a nervous person in general. After all, there is a shine of nerves in his brown eyes as well. 

"Alright?" Louis asks, closing the door as the other boy steps very hesitantly into the lobby, glancing around as if some demon could jump out from behind the furniture and attack him any second.

"Yeah… it’s just this house, that's all." 

Of course it is. 

Behind his back, Louis rolls his eyes so hard that they sting. He leads him to the living room where the cables have to be connected to the landline as Matt showed him earlier before he left. 

"I’m Liam, by the way. My dad couldn’t make it, so I’m helping out. I hope that’s okay," Liam says and since nobody has appeared to murder him, he seems more relaxed now. 

"Louis.” He grins, short-lived. “And as long as you know what to do, sure," Louis says, frowning as Liam kneels and fumbles around with a carton, taking out the device that will make Louis’ life a bit more entertaining. "Do we know each other?" he asks, a faint memory creeping into his mind from his night at the pub — the couple fighting outside. But it was dark, Louis had some to drink, and it could have been anyone really. Still, Liam with his muscles and David Beckham resemblance is hard to mistake, so Louis is pretty sure it’s him. "I think I saw you a week ago at the pub. Well, outside of it, more like." 

"Oh," Liam blinks up at him in surprise, "yeah could be. My boyfriend and I wanted to go for a drink but he isn’t too much into people. It looked too crowded, so we just went home." 

"Hm…" Louis hums, not knowing what to say to that. 

Liam works in silence and Louis watches him for a bit, making small talk here and there and even throwing in a joke that causes Liam to laugh so hard that he nearly drops the WiFi device. 

"You guys moved in here only recently, right?" 

Louis nods. "Yeah, like two weeks ago or something around that." 

"Aren’t you like  _ nervous _ to live in this house?" Liam asks, glancing around again with fearful eyes. 

Louis huffs, scrubbing the back of his head. "Nah, it’s okay. We’re all still alive." 

"So you do know what happened? Here, I mean?" 

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. His reply is on the tip of his tongue, but never makes it out in the open because just then someone behind him clears his throat and it dies silently and forgotten. 

Liam and Louis startle, turning in unison to see Harry leaning sideways in the doorway, his green eyes staring at Liam, intensely. 

"Hi," Harry says, taking a step into the living room. His gaze flickers from Louis to Liam. "Didn’t mean to interrupt, thought you’d be all wrapped up down here by now." 

"We’re all done," Liam says, clapping his hands as if to get dirt off them. "Nice to meet you. You too Louis.”

"You too," Louis says automatically, but his mind is still hung up on Harry’s cold tone towards Liam. His eyes stare without much friendliness at the bloke who is nothing  _ but _ nice, giving off a vibe of a big alive teddy bear even. 

"Anyway,” Liam says in an awkward tone, probably having noticed Harry’s indifference, too, “perhaps you’d like to come with us — Zayn and I — to the pub on Friday?" Liam asks, walking to the foyer and stopping, considering Louis and Harry with two friendly brown eyes, back to his upbeat self. "We’re just having some drinks, nothing too wild, really." 

Louis lights up, "Yes cool, I’d love to. Why not?" He looks at Harry who stares at his feet. "Harry?" he asks, "you’re coming too right?" 

Harry blinks at him, hesitation in the green of his eyes. "Uhh…" he presses his lips together, "hm…yeah…" He doesn’t sound too convincing and Louis wonders what the matter is with him. His shoulders are stiff as a board and his face is set in a grim kind of expression. Then he remembers how rude everyone was to Harry last time, how they were flipping him off and snarling in his face, how the girls laughed at him in a taunting way. Of course Harry doesn’t want to go back and endure the same treatment again. 

However before Louis can voice his change of mind, his heart guilty that he jumped right into the invitation without giving it a second thought, Liam is already grinning widely at him. 

"Cool, alright, I’ll tell Zayn. Really looking forward to it. Louis," Liam nods a few times, reminding Louis on an eager dog - and that too makes him feel guilty, he can’t say no now,  _ fuck _ \- "Harry," he gives a small wave and leaves. They both hear him sigh in relief just before the door falls shut behind him. 

"Well, I guess we’re going to the pub…" Louis says carefully. "I mean I get it," he adds, "if you don’t want to. I understand." 

Harry frowns at him, blinking, puzzled. "You… you do?" 

"Yeah those people were fucking arseholes. Maybe I can call Liam later. We have their business number." 

"Oh." Harry’s expression lifts from confusion. "Oh, that…" 

"Uh… yeah?  _ That _ ." 

What else? 

As Harry stays silent, deep in thought, Louis inhales and scratches his neck. "Anyway, we have working WiFi now, so let’s watch some YouTube videos. You’ve gotta check out our channel and watch cute animals doing cute as fuck things. You’re gonna  _ love _ it." 

* * * 

They are cuddled together in bed, Harry using Louis’ shoulder as a pillow and Louis with his shin tucked between Harry’s giraffe legs. Their eyes are glued to Louis’ laptop, which is balanced on Louis’ thigh. They are watching animals videos, from cats to dogs to birds to horses to bunnies hopping around in grass, and when that gets old at some point, they switch to watching the funniest vines Louis can find on YouTube. He isn’t even surprised when Harry asks  _ “what the fuck is a vine?”  _ and Louis doesn’t explain it, just shows him. A minute in, they are both chuckling at the dumb as fuck videos. 

As that too gets annoying because  _ honestly _ Louis is kind of over vines and funny faces, Louis pulls up his own channel and shows Harry some of his and Niall’s performances. He skips the first few videos because they are really embarrassing, recorded a year ago when neither of them had any clue what they were doing. Instead he clicks on — in his humble opinion — their best performance. 

It’s recorded by Perrie in their favourite pub and Harry is absolutely loving it, his gaze flickering from screen to Louis in amazement as Louis’ voice crackles from the tiny speakers of his laptop, filling the room and Niall’s guitar solo follows suit, leaving Harry slack-jawed. 

"You guys are great together," Harry rasps. "This is amazing, I love it!" 

"Thanks…" Louis murmurs, his cheeks heating. He fumbles with his fringe for a moment because suddenly he has no idea what to do with his hands. 

"I want to watch this one now…" Harry points to one of their earlier gigs which Louis had no intention of showing Harry at all, but as the boy blinks at Louis with wide happy eyes, his heart gives in and with a long, very much suffering sigh, he taps on it. 

They had recorded that one in their flat, first joking around like goofballs. Louis hides his face behind his hand, cringing as his past-self makes a joke that is so bloody unfunny that Louis wants to just die right here and there. Harry just chuckles at him, kisses his shoulder, and murmurs, "Cute." 

"I’m being a knob." 

"You’re hilarious, and…" Harry blinks at the screen as a Louis in the video yells gibberish, causing Video-Niall to hoot laughter, "loud,  _ very _ loud." 

"Yeah… I was… still am sometimes." Louis cringes as Niall and Louis onscreen scream and jump around, staging a fight before starting the actual content of the video. 

It’s  _ Wonderwall _ by  _ Oasis  _ and not  _ that _ bad, but compared to the video they watched previously… it’s not  _ that _ amazing. Louis holds his breath, awaiting with a fast beating heart a reaction from Harry. 

"Why aren’t you guys famous yet?" Harry asks when the song has finished and the screen turns to their self-composed theme song along with their logo, because Niall insisted they definitely needed one. 

"Dunno…" Louis jokes, "one day, Harry… one day I’ll be living in Hollywood or London or New York and be shitting money. That’s the dream…" he sighs, flexing his foot and toes.

"Yeah, remember me when you are." Harry bats his lashes prettily at him. 

Louis rolls his eyes. "Sure. I’ll fly you out anywhere you’d like, take you far away from here."

"That," Harry says in a sad kind of voice, sighing wistfully, "definitely sounds like a dream." 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, I hope you enjoyed chapter 5! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated - thank you for reading! xxx 
> 
> here is the [fic post](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/post/188726753141/join-me-in-the-afterlife) if you'd like to reblog


	6. CHAPTER SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis meets Zayn, learns more about the house and tries (and fails) to drown his guilty feelings in alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! 
> 
> I am so sorry for the massive delay. Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> ...enjoy! xxx

*** * ***

Days slur together in an endless marching line of Harry and Louis huddling up in his room, watching mostly videos on YouTube. 

Harry is more than astounded by the simple concept of the widely popular website, but Louis doesn’t comment how bizarre it is to get to know a boy Harry’s age so clueless about the internet and all the humourous fun that comes with it. However, on the other hand it’s actually kind of refreshing to have someone who doesn’t waste their precious time browsing the net. Louis wishes he could relate, but he’s in too deep. The internet has him, and there is no escape. 

Therefore it comes with no surprise whatsoever that Harry isn’t much for social media either — no Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat or Tumblr account. 

At the beginning, it was funny to explain how everything works and what it is all for, but as Louis has only so much patience for technical questions that everyone their age should know about, it’s easy to say that his patience runs thin by Thursday as Harry still keeps asking questions on how this or that works. 

Louis has to take deep breaths, especially when explaining to him  _ again _ how to use Spotify. He pointedly ignores how it makes no sense that Harry has no understanding of that either, since he adores music and Spotify is just that.  _ Music _ . A place Harry can get lost in and forget the world, his troubles, and this town. Yet when Louis asks on Wednesday if Harry could stream them some music from the app, he stared blankly at Louis about the word  _ 'app' _ and after that blinked in puzzlement at Louis' phone, fumbling around with it until Louis lost it and took over, choosing a playlist from  _ 90’s alternative grunge _ , guessing that would be right up Harry’s alley and thankfully he was right about that, at least. 

That aside, they are having a great time together. They stumble upon new music and watch a good amount of videos — most of them related to Kurt Cobain, of course, because once Harry discovered there were documentaries made about his idol, there was no going back. They watch endless interviews, videos of Kurt and his — sorry fuck up — wife, Courtney, which lead to an hour long discussion on whether she had something to do with his death or not. 

They end up on the same team about it after watching the movie  _ Bleach _ which covers the case through the perspective of the detective Courtney hired herself to find Cobain. 

The more they get into the entire mystery, the more they become angry at how the police handled Kurt’s death, letting the shotgun get melted so soon after it happened and the greenhouse torn down and Cobain’s body burned.  _ Just like that _ .  _ Bam _ , all evidence destroyed. It shattered Harry’s world completely - he didn’t know until, well they found out together, what exactly had happened to his favourite singer. He wept in Louis’ arms after they finished  _ Bleach _ for the second time. 

Louis has never had that kind of idol. Growing up, he loved David Beckham, followed his career and all but… honestly Louis has no clue about his personal life, no attachment to the football player besides that he was an excellent one, was Louis’ crush in his teenage years, and is married to one of the Spice Girls. Louis had wanted to be just like him on the pitch, obviously. As it is most boys’ dream who grow up loving football, he too wanted to become a professional player. But  _ then _ when he did a school theatre performance of  _ Grease,  _ after having had a taste of performing on stage and having an audience, he knew he wanted to become a singer. It was a sealed deal.

That dream somehow hooked itself deep inside the walls of his heart and to this day, it still pounds with hope that one day he will tour the world, Niall by his side as they sing on the biggest stages together. 

But seeing what happened to Kurt Cobain, how fame screwed with his head, how he hated the media for dragging everything he and his wife did through rubbish… well, he’d rather leave that part out, stay under the radar, private. 

Though Harry is obsessed with YouTube and everything that is connected to the internet, they do other things too, like playing guitar. Harry teaches him new songs and getting the chords right has gotten a bit easier, but his playing is still nothing compared to Harry — or Niall for that matter. He gets frustrated as his fingers are in the way and swears to  _ God and Satan  _ and  _ the Lord of whatever _ that he will burn Niall’s guitar and just practice on a piano from then on. Harry never lets him do that though, taking the guitar out of his hands as Louis goes to the balcony, his pink lighter ready in hand and a determined expression on his face. 

Half an hour later, Louis is glad Harry had stopped him and is back to trying to play  _ Dumb  _ by Nirvana _ . _ Harry is by his side, nodding encouragingly and correcting the way he holds the guitar here and there. He reaches out to place his fingers a bit differently and from there on it works so much better that by the end of their little teaching session, Louis is able to play the chords over and over without much thinking involved. Harry is beyond proud and Louis tries to hide his blushing with quick humour and teasing comments, having to admit that Harry probably would make a better music teacher than himself. 

That’s how they spend their days and nights. It’s great. Louis can’t complain. Having Harry with him is the best thing that has happened to him in a long while. It gets harder to say goodbye when Harry isn’t staying over, because Harry still has a life of his own and therefore can’t  _ always  _ sleep over at Louis’ place. 

Louis uses his free time in the morning to go on longer runs, burning off buzzing energy. Then he showers and takes a nap until a soft knock raps on the door. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that it’s Harry coming back to hang out and is always already smiling when the door opens and footsteps come his way. 

Harry  _ always _ crawls under the covers, scooting closer to Louis, joining him for a slumber until one of them wakes up, gets bored, and starts to annoy the other with tickles or pokes or sometimes a nose lick, because however that happened, it has become a weird  _ Harry-and-Louis _ thing and nobody ever has to know about it. It’s theirs, theirs alone — and Louis wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Since that one night Harry broke down in Louis’ bed after confessing what has happened to him, neither of them bring up any darker topics. As if they agreed on it, they choose to talk about light things, like music, like movies, like Niall, Perrie, and Hannah, and mostly about things that matter in the outside world, but nothing related to either of them. Louis doesn’t want to ask about Harry’s parents and Louis himself has had a pretty good, normal life compared to Harry. He has his mum, a few stepdads throughout the years, a sister, friends, university, gigs — all normal,  _ boring  _ but lovely things. 

There is always an awkward air around Harry. He seems to be holding back and biting his tongue, always averting his eyes, changing subjects, or asking one and a million questions just to get attention off of him. Louis sees right through it, of course. He isn’t daft, but he humours Harry and plays along, guessing it's none of his business if Harry doesn’t want to share more of his personal life. But, well, at  _ some _ point he has got to, at some point Louis’ ambitious goal is to know Harry inside and out. Perhaps a few years, visits, and phone calls down the road, he will reach it, or maybe he will be buried in his grave, head and heart full of questions about this one boy in this one small town. 

If Harry doesn’t want to talk… well, Louis can’t do anything about that. But he is optimistic and has patience at least for that, guessing it's also good training for him when he truly chooses to become a music teacher after graduating university. 

Since Matt has signed the contract, his mum and stepdad have been devoting most of their time getting things up and running. It benefits Louis well, leaving the house for Harry and him to explore and take over. 

Currently, they are outside, lazing underneath the open blue sky.

"It’s so fucking nice," Harry moans, stretching his long limbs into the shape of a star on the grass, his eyes closed and his nose held up against the warming summer sun. 

"Yeah…" Louis agrees, letting his eyes linger on Harry’s skin, which just doesn’t get any more tan although they sunbathe each day right after their nap. The contrast between them is unmistakable, Louis’ skin a golden glow in the rays of sun. Indoors, he looks as if he had joined Lottie in Spain, his arms, face, and legs a wonderful slight brown while Harry looks like Camembert cheese, creamy and delicious but very much white. 

With a yawn he rolls over to him, poking his ribs before tickling over his hip and up his stomach. 

Harry howls a surprised laugh and swats Louis’ hands away with little success. Louis is too fast, bringing them to his armpits as he makes them dance over his exposed skin. 

_ "F-f-fuc-k!" _ Harry laughs, writhing on the ground. When that doesn’t work, he forms his lanky body into a tight ball, his arms looped protectively around his middle as loud honking laughter wrack his shoulders. 

Louis hovers over him, his weight sinking onto Harry’s arm as he tickles his neck. Harry kicks air and tries to crawl from him on all fours, but he doesn’t get very far before he collapses as his lungs refuse to work. Louis isn’t any better - although nobody was tickling him near to death, he is out of breath too, his giggles shooting out of his chest along with pants. His strength to go after Harry leaves his arms as he falls face first forward, eating a mouthful of grass. 

Harry, peeking at him, starts anew, breaking into a long fit of laughter every time they make eye contact. Louis can’t help but laugh too. It’s like a disease.

In the end, neither of them knows what they are actually laughing about and it sends Louis back in time to when he and Niall smoked bloody  _ awesome _ weed and ended up on the floor, laughing about nothing and everything until Louis choked on his drink and Niall, his saviour, pounded damn hard on his back whilst singing some Irish folk song, which didn’t help and only robbed even more air from Louis’ clenching lungs. It was a good day and today feels just like that. Louis feels light and floaty next to Harry, laughing and rolling around on the grass, though this time he hasn’t had a hit of marijuana. 

They sober, slowly, here and there one of them letting out another quiet chuckle or carefree giggle. But all in all, their breathing gets back under control and Louis’ heartbeat calms as the sun warms his exposed skin and he sighs, letting his lashes flutter shut and murmurs, " _ Honestly _ , so bloody nice, eh?" 

His ears perk as Harry shuffles around by his side and not a second later there is an added weight on his chest. He blinks his eyes open, squinting at Harry, who loops his arm around Louis’ waist and stares out over the river. 

"I love this," Harry says. "I’m happy." 

Louis’ lips twitch and he sinks his fingers into Harry’s mop of hair, petting it in wide circles. 

Harry moans, the sound sending a little flutter to his belly and he shifts on the ground, swallowing around nothing. Harry again makes this little whiny sound and Louis widens his eyes as it stirs even more… uh  _ feelings  _ …in his stomach and builds up in his spine. 

He grinds his teeth, chanting,  _ 'don’t ruin this' _ on loop in his mind. 

Harry doesn’t seem to notice that his little sounds have awakened a part of Louis he isn’t ready just yet to explore. Sure, they have snogged, sure they have cuddled, but never...well. Huh, going further than that, that is.

Louis doesn’t know what to do and then because Harry is the  _ devil  _ in person, he innocently starts stroking Louis' stomach, still purring like a cat on his chest. 

Shit.

What to do, what to do — 

They have the house to themselves and Harry seems just as smitten with Louis as Louis is with him so… they could, couldn’t they? Is it too soon? Would it ruin things as they are or make them better? Oh bloody hell. He feels like he is sixteen again. 

Louis swallows thickly, sliding his definitely  _ not _ trembling palm to Harry’s neck and tugging on a single curl, successfully earning Harry’s attention. 

The boy lifts himself up, twisting and supporting his weight on his forearm. 

However it’s the look on his face that sets Louis aflame.

Harry is a sight. A wonderful sight that will be the end of Louis, he knows. 

His jade eyes are lasciviously hooded and electrified, his lips wet and swollen as if he had been biting them, the thin skin over his pulse point rising and falling in a fast rhythm. 

Harry presses his lower body more against Louis’ thigh and Louis  _ barely _ stops a groan as he feels how bloody  _ hard _ Harry is. 

Fuck.

They are… they are going to do it, aren’t they? It feels different, something has changed. The air between them is loaded with tingling tension as they maintain eye contact. 

It’s time. 

_ Fuck _ .

Nerves kick in like a live wire as Louis stares at Harry for a long beat, licking his lips. 

Harry turns his head a bit sideways, lifting his brows as if to dare Louis.

That’s it. 

He surges upward, sealing their lips in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss that coaxes a moan from deep inside Harry’s chest. He plants his hands on either of Harry’s shoulders and pushes him to lie on the grass, sitting on top of his lap in one graceful swoop and leaning forward, kissing him once more. 

Harry is panting beneath him, his chest heaving as Louis’ lips bring their attention to his exposed, lovely neck. He peppers quick kisses over his salty skin, lips wandering to his collarbone before finding their way back to his neck, his teeth nibbling softly on Harry’ ear. 

" _ Please… _ " Harry whimpers, out of breath. 

"Please… what, Harry? What do you want?" Louis asks, kissing along Harry’s jawline. 

"Please stop," Harry rasps. 

Louis’ heart flatlines.

As if burned, he shoots backwards, sitting on his calves and staring at Harry with wide eyes. 

Harry looks pale, more so than usual, and his eyes are darkly rimmed. Although Harry had looked aroused just minutes prior, moaning and sweating, panting and purring, he looks close to tears now. 

"I’m so sorry," Louis says, his voice quivering. "I… really read that all wrong, didn’t I?" Embarrassment and shame heats his face, though he feels cold, scared to have crossed a line, to have pressured Harry in any way. "I’m sorry," he says again. His breathing slows and so does his heart. 

"It’s… okay," Harry says, blinking fast and staring straight ahead into the sky.

"No, it’s not," Louis replies, rolling off him and bringing even more distance between their bodies. "I’m sorry." 

"I know, I am too. I led you on. It’s my fault," Harry says. His voice, though deep, is also very robotic, his eyes glossed over. 

Louis swallows thickly. "I really didn’t mean to, I swear…" Louis says again to soften the guilty feeling that has replaced any desire inside his body. 

"Not your fault," Harry says and sits up slowly, straightening his shirt. As he tugs his neckline above his collarbone, he cups his own neck and stares at the grass. "I… better… uh..." 

"Don’t go, let me…" Louis has no idea what to do or say, but letting Harry go in this state… that’s no option. But with the way Harry is looking at him, Louis doesn’t think he has a choice. "Don’t go… let me make it right?" 

"I’m sorry." Harry stands up, brushing dirt off his trousers. "I… I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?" 

Louis nods weakly, drawing his knees to his chest and watching Harry walk towards the barn. Once he is out of sight, Louis’ eyes fill with tears and a pathetic sob rips through his throat, the emotional toil of the situation breaking to the surface. 

He had ruined it and he doesn’t even know  _ how… _

* * * 

Louis is in a cranky mood after that and avoids his mother and Matt as they come home with groceries in their arms and smiles on their faces. 

He locks himself in his bedroom, but hates his bed because Harry’s scent is all over it. It clings to the pillows, blankets, and sheets and makes it hard for Louis to stop himself from being a creep and just laying on the mattress and inhaling it. Every atom in his body is missing this unbelievable boy and he needs his smell more than oxygen. He is weak, Harry made him weak and left him broken. Nobody is around to judge, so he buries his face into Harry’s pillow and only lifts his head when his lungs start burning and his body twists in panic that he is suffocating himself. 

Turning on his back, he stares at the ceiling, his thoughts numb in the back of his mind. He blinks away the tears that just won’t stop, not since Harry left. Honestly it’s not about sex. Sure, he would have liked that very much, and now his body is fucking confused about having gone from hot to panicked to sad. 

But the thing that lets tears wet his cheeks is the fact that deep in his bones, there is an unsettling feeling that he somehow screwed up so badly that he scared Harry off. Now Harry probably thinks he just wants sex or something or — Louis has had loads of time to mull this over — he probably hates Louis for making a move, for causing such distress after they had so much fun. Louis probably read it all wrong too caught up in his own lust that he projected it onto Harry, saw what he wanted to see. Selfish, he was selfish. 

He fucked up and he has no idea how to fix it because he doesn’t have Harry’s number, nor his address, nor any other way of reaching out to him and making things right, to apologise a million times and more. 

The look that Harry sent him was what alarmed him the most: utter fear etched into each muscle of his face, filling his eyes, causing his body to stiffen under Louis’ as if he were about to be  _ raped _ and that… to cause someone that kind of feeling is the  _ worst _ , just the worst, and Louis can’t help but hate himself more and more as the day drags on. The sun sets and his mother knocks on his door, but he is too tangled up in his mind to reply. She leaves eventually, probably using her special mother senses to know that something happened and he needs to be left alone. 

Only once it’s dark outside, Louis comes back to reality and sits up. His muscles are stiff from not being used for a few hours, and he massages his neck which stings when he moves his head. 

With a groan, he takes his phone and reads through some of Niall’s messages. That at least brings a smile to his lips, though a tiny one. The lump in his throat is still huge and swallowing is difficult, but his heart warms a bit as Niall sends him a selfie with his tongue poking out and his middle finger up, flipping Louis off for not replying for such a long time. 

Instead of texting back, he hits the call button and waits, his phone the only noise in the room. 

Louis puts the conversation on speaker, balancing his mobile on his thigh as he winds his arms around his middle and tries to gather his strength to pull up a brave mask. 

"Yo!" Niall greets, his voice so loud that Louis’ phone vibrates with it. "Tommo, I hate that I miss you. Thought you died and nobody sent me a notice."

"Fuck off…" Louis huffs, digging his nails into the fabric of his shirt. "I’m very much alive, thank you." 

"But something is wrong," Niall says matter-of-factly and Louis’ heart clenches. Niall knows him too well… but… Louis had tried so hard to put as much happiness into his voice as possible, damn. At least his acting was good enough that his mum bought into his nightmare story. "You haven’t called  _ at all! _ And you’re barely on your phone. C’mon I sent you so many jokes and you haven’t replied to  _ any _ of them — so what’s wrong?" 

Oh, Louis inhales through his nostrils. Thank fuck. 

"Nothing, been busy." 

"With what? Milking cows?"

"Ha, ha…" Louis rolls his eyes. 

"Or with a pretty farm boy? That’s it, isn’t it?" He can hear Niall’s grin through the line. 

"Something like that, but…" His eyes roll heavenward, studying the bland ceiling. He blinks as unshed tears tingle in his eyes. "It’s… I fucked up. Like, badly." 

"Oh no…" Niall gasps, "what did you do, Tomlinson? You took over a year to find a boy, just to scare him off? C’mon now."

"Well," Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, but he doesn’t even have to. If there is something that Niall is good at, it’s talking, even into an awkward, tense silence. 

"Listen, you’re a great guy and you deserve someone better. Someone who isn’t so easily scared away by your bad jokes, okay? I mean, your humour isn’t as good as mine, but hey… I’m awesome, what can I say, right?" 

Louis cracks a smile.

“So?” 

Louis considers telling him the whole situation, but dismisses that thought. It’s only after Niall keeps nagging that he is prompted to spill his gut, obviously leaving parts out, but explaining to him how he met had Harry and they had a great time together at the pub and at home and then ending it with the grand finale — his massive fuck up. 

Niall is silent, only interrupting if Louis skips over a part that connects A to B. He hums into the line as Louis holds his breath, pulling on his bottom lip and twisting it painfully in anxiety. 

"I screwed up, didn’t I? Maybe he’s just affectionate and I read too much into it? I mean…he is emotional, sensitive…" Louis frowns. He thinks of Harry at the lake, confessing to him that his friend died and showing Louis in how much pain he is in, and Harry weeping about his past and about Kurt Cobain. Harry is a fragile butterfly and Louis doesn’t want to hurt him any further. Yeah, he fucked up. 

"Sounds like he has some issues," Niall muses, stating the obvious even though Louis had left out the bits of pieces from Harry’s past. That is private and Louis hates gossiping about someone else’s pain like that. "Perhaps he’s like…demi-sexual? Or I don’t know, maybe he needed a wee really badly?" 

Louis snorts wetly. "Yes, that is it, of course." He rolls his eyes, his fingernail cutting into the flesh of his lower lip, sending a zip of ache through his jaw. He licks it, tasting blood, and cringes. 

"I dunno. The best thing is to not read too much into it and talk it out. If you’re not talking, you’ll just worry yourself sick, man. We can’t have that." 

"Since when did you get so wise?" Louis cocks an eyebrow, peeking at his desk chair. He thought it moved a tiny bit, but that can’t be, can it? It was probably a trick of the lighting.

"Happened during sex with a goddess. Sex actually makes you smarter, it’s like a  _ fact _ ." 

Louis groans. "Spare me the details, please." 

"I’ll save them for when I come for a visit, don’t worry." 

"No thanks, you’re not invited any more." 

"I’ll tell your mum." 

"I’ll tell your girlfriend." 

Niall giggles. " _ Girlfriend _ . Geez, I can’t believe she’s mine…" And that sets off a long talk about how amazing Hannah is and how well things are working out for them, how nice it is to see his family, how everyone fell for Hannah just like he did, and how the word ‘marriage’ has been getting thrown around a lot. For a blissful hour, Louis gets sucked into Niall’s life so much that he forgets about his own. 

* * *

As Louis tucks himself into bed, fear spreads like a fire through his nervous system, heat licking at his mind and setting his muscles aflame.

He had been able to sleep pretty well when Harry stayed over and even on nights that he didn’t, Louis was too relaxed and happy to give sleepwalking a second thought. His mind was elsewhere, distracted and mush. 

Now, resting his head on the pillow, his eyes are wide open although it’s past three in the morning and he had promised his mother to at least join them for brekkie when the sun comes up. 

He stutters a breath. "Here we go again." 

Nothing has happened. He hasn’t awakened under the morning sky this entire week, not since Harry had slept at his place. But with everything that occurred today, he fears his sleepwalking — caused by stress, yes? — will haunt him. 

Time passes and his eyes, bleary and dry, refuse to close. His body is stiff and unable to find peace. It’s all bollocks. He hates it. With a big whoosh, he throws himself onto his side and squeezes his eyes shut. 

See, it works. 

His body, exhausted and heaving in relief that finally Louis is allowing it to go to sleep, turns fuzzy and so does his brain. 

A moment passes, his ears perk to listen as a rustling noise emits into the dead silence of his room. 

It’s not from outside, nor from the corridor. 

He is pretty sure it came from his bedroom. 

Irritated, he sits up and has a look around. 

It’s dark, so he can’t see much - only the general outline of his furniture. 

Frowning, he scratches his head. As it stays silent and no serial killer jumps out of a corner, he shrugs the chilled feeling off his shoulders and gets comfy in the sheets once more. 

It doesn’t take long for him to be pulled out of slumber yet again as a dull sound echoes off the walls. 

Groaning in misery, he rubs sleep out of his eyes. 

Sweeping his glance from left to right slowly, an electric feeling stabs through his heart. 

In the corner of his room, a shadow flicker sideways. Louis stares unblinking at where he saw it, holding his breath. He grinds his teeth as a cold sweat breaks out of his pores. 

_ What? What was… that?  _

His heart thunders loudly. 

It must have been a trick of the moonlight. Perhaps an owl flew past his window and caused a shadow to dance on the wall. It’s nothing. He’s being paranoid, that’s all. 

With that thought in mind, he pulls the blanket over his shoulders and turns his back to the balcony door as he counts to ten mentally. No more sounds rustle and sleep overtakes his body and mind. With a last deep breath, he drifts off. 

* * *

The little girl takes his hand and leads him down the stairs, out of the house, and into the driveway. 

Her haunted figure is in a shadowy glow, her skin light under the gleam of the moon. Louis shivers as they return to the barn and stand in front of it, staring, unmoving. 

She squeezes his hand, hard - very hard, so hard it hurts and numbs his entire arm - cutting off his blood circulation. His muscles tense and go stiff, his legs too heavy to take another step in any direction. His eyes dart to the girl, squinting as he’s unable to move his head, an invisible force keeping him glued to the spot. 

The girl, too, has her head straight, staring at the barn as she has done every previous night. 

It’s cold. Silent. 

Goosebumps spread over his bare skin. 

A giggle rattles around them. It’s a taunting high-pitched sound faintly resembling a howl, coming from behind them. 

The girl’s head snaps to the side, inspecting whatever it is and she lets out a gasp, caught off guard in fear. Louis is able to turn as well and checks over his shoulder for the source, but the only thing he sees are the cars neatly parked in a row in the courtyard. 

Louis wants to ask what it is, what she is so afraid of, but his tongue is thick as if a bee has stung it and it is swollen to double its size.

Then, there is another high giggle. Instantly, chills roll over his body, the icy sound getting underneath his skin, freezing his blood. He swallows, again squinting over his shoulder and only seeing cars. 

The snicker morphs into a haunting laugh and the girl begins to tremble by his side. 

She tugs on his arm, prompting him to move, and before he knows what is going on, they briskly approach the barn. She takes the lead and he stays close behind her as they enter it. 

This hasn’t happened before. 

Louis doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. 

It sets a fear free unlike any Louis has ever experienced in his entire life, his heart is pounding so hard in his chest that his entire body frame vibrates with it. His hands are shaking and he is now grabbing the girl’s hand back in a deadly hold, needing the comfort of it as much as she seems to. 

Their heavy breathing fills the darkness surrounding them. 

Cold sweat breaks out of his pores as a foul smell creeps into his nostrils. The insides of his stomach roll and swirl, trying to push up his dinner. 

He is going to vomit. 

There is an awful smell hanging in the air, pungent as if a dead animal is rotting in the corner. 

He can’t, it’s too much. Louis’ shoulders curl forward as his insides turn violently. He presses his free hand to his sternum, feeling his heart gallop. 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _

Bile rises up his throat. It hurts. The scent is everywhere. 

"I…" he starts breathily with a pressed, thin voice, but he doesn’t get far. His lungs clench as his mouth seeks air that just isn’t there. Thick drops of sweat build on his nape, wetting his hair and causing his nightshirt to stick to his back like he just ran a goddamn marathon. 

The girl squeezes his hand three quick times and Louis takes a shallow inhale, cupping his mouth to stifle his broken inhales. He heard it too. 

Alarm bells go off in his mind. 

His eyes blink into the darkness, disoriented. 

_ No _ ...

The door opens behind them and falls shut quickly with a bang. 

Louis flinches at the sudden loud sound, his naked feet slipping on the hay. 

_ Someone else is with them in the barn.  _

A rattling breath is close to Louis’ side, making him freeze on the spot. A strong odor of death comes off in waves from the other’s body.

Louis’ belly turns in on itself as bile shoots into his mouth, burning his throat. He swallows it down, holding his vomit back. It sits like a ball in his stomach, threatening to break out of him at any given moment. 

He is sure he has never been closer to dying than he currently is. 

It’s a knowledge that sweeps through his bones and settles in a stone-like weight upon his heart. 

_ They are going to die inside the barn.  _

A movement flickers in front of his unseeing eyes, along with a gust of wind. The rattling sound moves in front of Louis, then suddenly it’s behind him, and then by his side once more, as if it’s source is walking in a small circle around them, like a tiger preying on its target. 

The girl is crying quietly, holding onto Louis’ hand like her life depends on it. His arm vibrates with the shaking of her tiny body, their knot of tangled fingers hitting the side of Louis’ leg repeatedly. 

A white noise rings through Louis’ eardrums as he sets his jaw. 

He swallows thickly. 

He can’t fight whoever it is, he can’t even  _ see _ them for fuck’s sake. He can’t run either, his feet glued to the ground and well, if he were to try hiding — hiding  _ where?  _

_ It’s everywhere.  _

Yet the attack he is waiting for doesn’t come. They are only caging them in, moving closer and closer until Louis feels something touching his arm and it brings him out of it. 

Louis needs to get them out of here while he still has a chance.

Panic engulfs him and unfreezes him from the spot as his survival instincts kick in. He dares to take a shaky step backwards, hoping to find the door handle as he moves his hand behind his back, feeling around, his fingers slapping blindly against the brick wall. 

When the rattling sound is by his front, he takes a bigger, more daring step backwards, but in panic trips over his own two feet and slams instantly into the hard wall, taking the girl with him though he tries to soften the fall. The back of his head collides with the wall in a dull thud. For a moment he is overcome with so much pain that he thinks he will pass out, but he grits his teeth stubbornly and blinks away white dots that appear in the black space. 

The girl is holding onto him, weeping into his arm, wetting his skin. 

Before he has the chance to yank down the door handle, breath fans over his face, so close, disgusting and unbearable. 

He chokes on it, coughing, suffocating as if he ate dust. 

Another giggle erupts, unnatural and high. 

Louis realises this — whatever it is — isn’t a person. 

Their snicker subsides. 

Louis blinks. 

The girl stops crying. 

They all hear it. 

Louis strains to listen, his heart still loud and his mind dizzy from his crash. 

But indeed, indeed — 

_ Footsteps _ .

Louis’ lungs fill with air to scream for help, but before he can push it out, the door is ripped open and Louis loses balance. He tumbles backwards, hitting his head with a bang on the ground. 

With a throbbing head, pain zipping from the back of his hair to his nape and jaw and causing him to yet again see white dots, he shoots upright, not waiting for it to subside. 

The urge to get away from danger is too strong to ignore now that safety is close by. 

His ears are ringing again and through a tunnel he hears someone speaking to him, rushed and panicked. 

Two hands lift him upward onto his feet. Because of standing upright so suddenly, his mind turns funny and everything spins in front of his eyes. 

He can’t see. He can’t see. He can’t fucking see. 

His head is swimming. 

He’s going to die. He knows it. 

Louis takes another step and his weak legs give in. He falls with a groan onto the gravel-covered ground, his body going numb. 

_ This it it, _ is his last clear thought as someone leans over him.  _ This is — _

Before he can make out a face, his world transforms to black. 

* * * 

"Shh, Louis—" 

Louis rips his eyes open, blinking but not seeing anything. For a second he is scared that he has gone blind. It takes a moment for his pupils to focus, but then he makes out his mother whose face is hovering over him. Her eyes are shining with fear and concern, and her hands are on his shoulders as if to hold him down. 

His chest heaves and rapid pants escape his mouth. It makes his mind spin, a detaching feeling engulfing him as if he is floating over the scene, leaving his body behind. 

He can’t breathe — that is wrong, somehow, because Louis is gasping desperately, but his lungs stay deprived of oxygen. He yelps for air, yapping as if he were a fish on land. He can’t — he  _ can’t _ . He is going to die. His heart clenches violently with a pressure upon it that threatens to crush him. His vision turns blurred around the edges. 

Is he having a heart attack? Is this what it feels like? What dying feels like? His eyes roll back in his head as his muscles cramp violently, his fingers fisting and opening, his toes flexing and relaxing. 

He’s having a stroke. He’s having a fucking stroke. 

Panic radiates through his brain like an electric wire, making his mind spin even more.

" _ Louis! _ " Jay slaps his cheek, but he doesn’t feel it, his skin numb. "Louis, shh, you need to calm down, honey. Calm down, even breaths, c’mon, Lou… shh… concentrate on my voice." 

Louis hears his mother from far under the sea, her voice muffled. Another slap, then another, and he hears her call out. 

A fulgurating shadow moves next to his mother and his eyes widen in utter terror as his breathing goes totally out of control. 

_ It found him _ .  _ It found his mother. It’s here. It’s here. _

Louis stares, the view in front of him still swimming, the two faces blurred as if he needs glasses.

His body goes still like a board as a haunting laugh rings in his brain. 

Suddenly it stops, just stops and out of nowhere as if life has left Louis’ body, it gives up. His muscles slacken on the mattress and his fingers loosen, releasing the blanket that he had been holding in a deathly tight grip. 

Slowly, his breathing comes out in little puffs. His lungs suck every bit of air in and they balloon with a deep, soothing breath, his tummy expanding massively.

With a heartbeat that sits behind his forehead, he blinks and focuses at last on his mother before his eyes flicker over and instead of seeing  _ It _ , he finds Matt’s concerned, ashen face. He looks between them before his eyes rest on his mother. Her lips are moving, but he doesn’t hear her for another long moment until the ringing in his ears subsides and her voice carries through. 

"It was just a dream, Louis…" she whispers with a quivering voice, stroking his cheek and forehead with gentle fingers. 

His mind is still dizzy. 

"Hm…" Louis shuts his lids, drawing even more air into his body through his nose and breathing out shakily. "Hm…" His lips flap, no more sounds leaving them although he wants to correct his mother that… what exactly? That it wasn’t a dream? 

He blinks down at his body which is underneath his blanket. 

He didn’t sleep walk… he… didn’t… sleepwalk. 

"You’re alright, darling." 

Louis can’t agree nor disagree because a calmness is settling over his humming bones. Before he can figure anything out, his eyes droop and he falls into another restless sleep. 

* * * 

Louis comes to the conclusion that it must have been a nightmare, a _really_ _real_ nightmare. 

His mother told him at breakfast that he was in bed, screaming and tossing around when she rushed to him in the early morning hours, his gruesome screams having woken her up. 

Well, although he was in bed and didn’t wake up underneath the sky, it doesn’t explain the ache that throbs in the back of his head, right where he hit the wall and the ground in his  _ so-called  _ nightmare.

But how could he have been in the barn, experiencing whatever  _ that  _ was firsthand when he was in bed at the same time, right? 

Therefore, he must have hit himself on the headrest. He wasn’t wandering in the driveway nor did he set foot in the barn that night either. 

It was all a fucked up nightmare straight out of hell. 

Because he couldn’t just let it go that easily, he excused himself shortly after finishing brekkie to check out the barn in daylight. 

There isn’t any foul smell in the air like in his  _ dream, _ though it is still a bit musty just like on the day he discovered the symbol underneath all that mouldy hay. 

Instead of making him feel better, it freaks him out more than sleepwalking itself because the girl, too, had been scared of this  _ thing _ with… well,  _ rattling breath and the touch of death?  _ Eh.

It sounds ridiculous even to his own ears. 

It’s frustrating and scary and Louis’ body is  _ restless _ . 

He tries to distract himself by playing guitar, but strumming the first chords of  _ Dumb _ reminds him too much on Harry and what happened between them the previous day. He knows he wouldn’t be able to make it to the end of the song before nearly throwing that thing out of the window. 

It’s just too much to think about all at once. 

Therefore he goes on his usual morning run to clean out the tangled mess in his head because honestly at this point he isn’t capable of keeping what’s real and what’s made up apart anymore. He hopes running will relieve him from his pain. 

It works for a while, his soles hitting the road in an even pattern and music droning out the thoughts that were too loud in the silence of his bedroom. The fresh forest air does wonders for his lungs after his suffocating experience at night. 

As he passes the mysterious house, he stops like a rope is holding him back. 

He wipes sweat off his forehead and frowns, removing his left earpiece as he peers at the house. 

Harry had said he lived in the neighbourhood. Since there isn’t much of a neighbourhood and this house is the closest thing next to theirs, perhaps it’s Harry’s home? 

It looks like a witch's house with a high, pointed roof, hidden from civilisation. 

It would kind of fit Harry, right? 

He sees a shadow move behind a window. 

Taking his chances, he swallows anxiety down and inhales calmly. He trots to the front porch, up the stairs, and knocks twice on the dark painted door. 

Someone has to be home. So he waits. 

As nobody comes to the door, he sighs, shifting on the spot. He rings the doorbell two long times. 

Nothing. The door stays closed. 

Either Harry is still mad and doesn’t want to talk or his parents aren’t able to get the door. Of course there is always the possibility that Louis is really far off with his guess and this is someone else's house, which would be embarrassing.

His desire to find out and to apologise to Harry is stronger than the fear of humiliation or having to stutter out an explanation to Harry’s — sick — parents.

Louis knocks again, holding his breath. To his complete surprise, fast footsteps come his way and holy shit, he really didn't think this through at all. Only now, he comes to the realisation that he is a sweaty and probably reeking mess. 

His concerns are unnecessary and washed away as the door opens at last. 

Louis’ eyebrows jump up as it’s not Harry nor anyone over forty opening the door, but no other than this Liam guy. 

They both stare at one another through the small opening gap of the door. 

"Louis? What are you doing here?" Liam asks, opening the door completely. 

Louis shifts his weight, awkwardly. "Sorry, I… thought this house belongs to someone else, I didn’t know uh..." 

"Oh," Liam smiles easily, crossing his arms, "yeah actually it does. It’s my boyfriend’s." He gives a single shoulder shrug. "Zayn." 

Louis blinks and disappointment spreads from his heart all over his body. "Alright, okay then. Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you." 

"You didn’t. We don’t usually expect guests or anyone to come along, so we never bother to open the door." Liam cringes. "Sorry, this is weird, I know. Zayn is…not really into people that much." 

"He’s into you though," Louis’ reply shoots out of his mouth before he can stop it, not knowing how far he can go with Liam since they are strangers. 

"I guess he is," Liam smiles, his expression turning soft and dreamlike. "Anyway," he shakes himself out of it, letting his arms fall to the side. "I’d invite you in but —" 

"Don’t worry, I’m all sweaty and need to run another few miles before I’m allowed to sit down," Louis interrupts with a smile of his own, sparing Liam from coming up with an excuse. 

"I go running too," Liam says, eyeing Louis. "Perhaps we can run together sometime. It’s always nice to have company, that way time passes quicker." 

"Sure, we can suffer together," Louis nods, taking a small step back. 

"No, it’s fun," Liam’s eyebrows dip lower. "I love running. Sports in general, actually. I go weight lifting five times a week, well I mean I gotta say it’s my job too. I’m a fitness trainer at the local gym, so it’s like a win-win situation." He puffs out his chest. 

Louis’ gaze wanders over Liam’s huge muscles and he lifts his brows. "I can see that," he says, smiling at Liam, amused. “Well…”

“Well…” Liam repeats. 

They look at one another, awkwardness growing between them. 

"We’re still on for tonight, right?" Liam asks, half turning back into the house.

"Oh," Louis blinks, having nearly forgotten about the pub night. "Sure, yeah." 

"Great, Zayn’s looking forward to meeting you." 

"Yeah, yeah, cool. Me too," Louis nods. 

"Nice, all right. Have a good run, champ." 

Louis rolls his eyes and after another echoed round of awkward goodbyes, Liam closes the door and Louis is off. 

* * *

The day passes with time wasted waiting for Harry who doesn’t show up at all, no matter how many times Louis checks the lawn through the window or goes downstairs and opens the front door for a peek outside. Harry is nowhere to be spotted and it weighs his heart down. At last, he is forced to come to terms with the fact that Harry needs time. 

He gives up hope and decides it’s best to shower and get going because waiting another minute will only cause him to be late. 

Jay isn’t really pleased with him going out and drinking but can’t do more than merely nod when he argues that he stayed home the entire week and still had nightmares so a few drinks can’t do any more harm than that. When she hears that he’s meeting with two people he met at random, she is a bit more okay with it seeing as Louis won’t be alone but in company. She even goes as far as to drive him there, which works perfectly on both ends: she knows he will be safe and he doesn’t have to leg it. His muscles are still sore from his jog. 

In comparison to last Friday night, the pub is a dead, lifeless place. It’s a bit disappointing. Only three men sit at the bar, drinking their beer probably after work and one lonely elderly woman is sitting in a booth talking to herself… apparently. Louis keeps an eye on her as he moves to the far end and slides into the booth next to the old fashioned jukebox. 

From his spot he has a good view of the place and can see who comes in and goes out. He hopes Harry will be one of the ones that will enter rather sooner than later. Although he told himself as he shampooed his hair that he wouldn’t hope for him to show his face this fine evening, there is still a stubborn part of his heart that dares to perk up bravely every time there is a movement by the door, only to be let down when an older man enters and joins his lads by the counter. 

Liam and his boyfriend are still amiss also. 

He orders a beer and nurses it slowly, not wanting to get drunk before the others arrive. He feels out of place and lonely in this rustic vintage sort of pub. 

To kill time, he gets his phone out, logging into the free WiFi of the place — which thank fuck for that — and texts Niall a stupid joke. He gets an instant reply of  _ 'hahahahahaha' _ — Louis can actually hear Niall’s laugh in his ear and at least that causes him to crack a quick smile. He sends his sister a text too, but doesn’t get an instant reply, though the two arrows turn blue meaning she has read it. Pouting at the display, he sends her a raised middle finger emoji and pulls up his chat with Perrie. His fingers are poised, ready to type, but a shadow out of the corner of his eye makes him halt. He glances up with raised brows, expecting Harry or Liam, but is disappointed to see one of the men from the bar standing by his table with a gruff expression on his wrinkled face. 

"You’re that boy who moved into that house." Although  _ ‘that house’ _ is kind of a vague kind of thing to say, everyone seems to know exactly what house they are talking about. Town-talk. Harry had said so. 

"Yeah,” Louis says, locking his phone just to have something to do with his hands. “I mean my family moved in, I’m just visiting." He gives a meagre shrug, pulling awkwardly on his neckline. He shifts in his seat. 

"Ah," the guy draws the word out in its length, "we were all wondering who could be crazy enough to do so… eh? You folks ain’t from here, eh? Are ya?" His bushy eyebrows raise. 

Louis shakes his head, not really knowing what to say to that. "No…" 

"Yeah, yeah… _ ’course _ , you aren’t — nobody from this town would set a foot in there." He grunts, the corner of his mouth turning downward. 

"I have actually," a voice adds and Louis breathes in relief as he spots Liam smiling at him before directing it at the man. "It’s just a house, Bern, go drink another beer. Yes? Leave Louis alone, he just moved here." He gives — Bern? — a friendly clap on his meaty shoulder. 

Bern huffs. “Well, don’t worry ya mother going to that house, Payne.” 

Liam remains friendly. “I won’t. How’s your wife doing?”

“Oh, can’t complain, she recovered pretty good after her fall. Doing alright.” 

“Tell her I said hi _ .  _ My mum’s gonna call her next week, I think it has something to do with our upcoming church event. She’s planning to bake a walnut tart.” 

“Will do, will do. Alright, kids, have a nice night, eh?” He shakes Liam’s hand. When Bern looks at Louis again, his eyes narrow. “And you boy, keep yourself safe, eh?”

Louis nods. Bern knocks on the table, then walks back to his men at the bar. Promptly, they stick their heads together and whisper like school girls, sending a few glances in Louis’ direction. 

Louis rolls his eyes, huffing. "Whatever that means..." 

Liam laughs lowly, scratching the side of his head. “Forget him.” 

Louis will just do that. 

Then his gaze lands on the boy by Liam’s side, nearly hidden behind Liam’s compact frame. Louis takes a good guess and says it’s his boyfriend, Zayn. He is tiny and slim, very thin just like Louis remembers from his last visit at the pub. This time he doesn’t seem to be angry, his dark, brown eyes blinking slowly at Louis. His hair has a matching colour and what Louis didn’t notice the other time is that the boy is very, very pretty. 

He’s wearing a leather jacket, though it’s still warm outside, and a piercing gleams on his nose. 

The contrast to Liam, muscular and beautiful in a magazine fitness model kind of way is now pretty transparent seeing both next to each other up close. 

They make the most handsome couple Louis has laid eyes on in his entire life — and he’s friends with Perrie and Jade. 

“I already feared you guys were gonna ditch me,” Louis jokes to break the ice. 

Zayn smiles and scoots into the booth across from Louis. 

“Oh no, Zayn needed to buy cigarettes, so… I’ll get us a drink. You good, Louis?” Liam says with a quick glance to Louis’ half-empty pint. Louis nods. “Be right back.”

Zayn and Louis watch Liam amble to the bar. 

The shared air between them turns awkward now that they are alone, a slow rock ballad filling the silence. 

Zayn’s dark eyes are fixed on Louis, unwavering as if he can see right through him, reading his darkest secrets. The thing is though, Louis has none but it’s still unsettling, like he is scared that Zayn could find something out about him that Louis wasn’t even aware of himself. 

Louis rubs his hands over his thighs to calm his nerves. 

"So you’re Zayn… Liam talked a bit about you," Louis finally breaks, pasting a smile on his face that quivers a bit as Zayn folds his hands on the table and nods, his piercing reflecting the light from above. 

"Yes…" Zayn breaks their intense eye contact, dragging his glance to the bar to check on Liam, who is chatting with the barman, looking relaxed and at home. As if he could feel Zayn’s gaze, he shoots his boyfriend a puppy grin that seems to loosen the tension in Zayn’s shoulders and as he turns back to Louis there is a smile on his lips, too. "Liam told me about you, too. Louis, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Louis nods, jiggling his leg beneath the table as he takes a long sip from his beer. 

"Where’s your friend?" 

"Oh..." Louis’ gaze moves to the door as if on cue Harry would enter the place and relieve Louis from this situation. "I guess he’s not coming, We had a fight," he adds to explain that Harry just didn’t simply stand him or them up, but there was a reason he isn’t present. "It’s nothing though." Louis rambles on as Zayn is still not saying much. 

Zayn nods and they continue sitting in silence until Liam saves them and hands Zayn a beer. He scoots onto the bench next to his boyfriend and wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn snuggles close immediately.

"How was your run the other day?" Liam asks, turning his bottle in his palm in circles.

Louis follows the movement with his eyes then gives a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah good, good. Only recently started jogging, so I’m no superman."

"We definitely should go together sometime because this one," Liam smiles fondly down at the boy in his arms, his fingers squeezing his shoulders softly, "isn’t much of a sporty kind of person." 

"I hate running," Zayn rolls his eyes. 

"What do you like?" Louis asks. 

Zayn shrugs, averting his gaze to the table’s surface. 

"Zayn is more of an artist, painting and drawing up in his studio. You should see some of his paintings, they definitely belong in a gallery," Liam gushes, "but that would mean interacting with people and—" 

"I don’t like that," Zayn finishes for him. "I don’t like people much. They are loud and annoying." 

Louis looks between Liam and Zayn, dumbfounded. This is a joke, innit? But by Zayn’s vacant expression he guesses not so much. Not knowing what to say to that, Louis snorts.

He has to admit, this town has quite a few interesting characters. 

"We’re working on that," Liam shrugs and sighs, looking like a man who has had the same discussion so many times that he lost count. "Now Louis tell me, how do you like it here so far?" 

"It’s alright," Louis replies, glad for the topic change. "I haven’t seen much of it, though. I went to the lake one time and otherwise I just run that one path that leads through the woods around the grounds. Well, and I went grocery shopping." He cringes, only realising now that he’s been here for three weeks and has no idea what else the town has to offer besides a pub and one single store. Ah, and of course the petrol station, where Louis buys his beloved cigarettes from. 

"The café in town centre makes a mean coffee," Liam says, leaning forward a bit, "and there is a  _ lovely _ second hand store close to it, perfect for finding little treasures. You should check it out." 

Louis has already opened his mouth to reply, but Zayn interrupts with a huff and a quiet laugh. 

"You’re only saying that because it’s  _ mine _ ." 

"Yes, but I love it nonetheless." 

Louis watches the couple bicker back and forth, caught in their own little world and wishes again wistfully that Harry would be here with him too. 

He isn’t though and Louis drops his head back as he empties his beer, catching the last drop with his tongue. 

Louis excuses himself, but neither of them seems to take notice. He gets another pint, collecting himself at the bar because  _ damn, this is so bloody awkward _ . Louis hates awkwardness. It’s just — a no. He brushes through his hair. 

He knows Liam is trying to smooth the air between Zayn and Louis, but Louis has no idea why Zayn is the way he is: speaking in a low voice, mumbling his words, averting his eyes or staring with such  _ intensity _ that Louis feels hot and itchy. 

Glancing at the couple who are still talking amongst themselves, he releases a big breath. He shoots the door another praying gaze, but it remains shut tight. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Bobbing his head to the music, he waits for the barman to fetch him another. Feeling eyes on him, he glances to his side, where Bern lifts his beer for a cheer. Louis musters a smile, nodding with a raised chin and lifted brows.

“Here, lad,” the barman hands him a beer. 

Louis pays and, guessing there is no more time to stall, rejoins the couple. 

"Why didn’t Harry come?" Liam asks and Louis explains again why he is alone. "Well," Liam starts, "don’t get me wrong but this guy…I don’t know," he shrugs, averting his eyes to his beer, "seemed a bit off. More of the jealous type. Don’t get me wrong though. Was just a feeling." 

Louis’ eyebrows shoot to his hairline as the other boy’s words settle in his brain. He juts out his bottom lip. "Uh, no I don’t think that’s it — last time some people here were pretty rude to him. I guess that’s why he didn’t come or wasn’t too up for the idea when you asked. Do you know him or something?" 

They could have gone to school together,  _ nearly _ the same age and now that the possibility is in the room to get to know what kind of person Harry is a bit more, he leans forward in interest. 

Liam, however, is shaking his head. "No, I saw him for the first time when I went to set up your WiFi." 

"Harry?" Zayn asks, blinking out of deep thoughts. "Harry, who?" 

"This kid I’m hanging out with. He’s the first person I met when my parents moved into their new house," Louis says, pursing his lips. "Thought maybe you guys knew him, since it’s that kind of town, right?" he asks, remembering how Liam was  _ ‘friends’ _ this weird Bern guy, talking about his parents and church and cake. Liam was friendly with the barman as well as if they, too, were quite close. 

"We don’t know him," Zayn says with a shake of his head, taking a sip of his beer. 

Well, then. Louis lets it drop. 

They make a bit of small talk, Louis directing the attention off Harry and himself and asking loads of questions about them, about this town, about football and everything that doesn’t concern his family’s home - but of course they end up there anyway.

"Is it scary to live in a murder house?" 

Louis chokes on his beer.

Coughing violently, he stutters. "E-ex…" he coughs again into his fist, his cheeks reddening as his throat burns with a grand inhale. "Excuse me  _ what? _ " He blinks, his mouth slackened, flabbergasted. 

"Yeah, didn’t you know? The last family who lived there was murdered," Zayn says, quirking his eyebrows at Louis as his lips stretch around his bottle of beer. The way he says it throws Louis off more than the facts themselves, calm and collected as if they were discussing the weather. 

"How can you not know about this?" Liam asks, his brown puppy eyes widened in alarm. "This was like —  _ huge news! _ " 

"Twenty-and-five ago, babe…" Zayn murmurs, kissing his cheek. 

"Oh, I get it now, you guys taking the piss." Louis grins, relaxing his shoulders and leaning back in his seat. 

Zayn and Liam share a quiet glance. 

“No…” Liam replies slowly, “this really happened. How did you not know that you moved into a murder house? Aren’t they forced to divulge that information before the sale?” In question, he looks at Zayn who shrugs, his gaze fixed on Louis. 

They aren’t taking the piss. Liam has a too open face to lie. Plus, he doesn’t seem like the type to mess around with dark humour. 

Louis starts to sweat, his hands clammy. "Uhm, no, no I didn’t know. Nobody told us. Don’t think my mum would have moved into it if she knew.”

Liam makes a sympathetic noise. 

“Eh… what happened?" Louis pulls on his neckline. 

“Honestly, nobody knows,” Liam says, checking over his shoulder. Then, he leans forward, Zayn mimicking him. 

Both fold their arms on the table. 

"There lived this family, like a large one — hippies of some sorts and whatnot. Nobody really knew them well enough, everyone minded their own business though in reality behind closed doors everyone had something to say about them. The sixties were over, y’know?" Zayn shrugs. "Obviously we weren’t born yet then, but growing up it became a tale kids told each other on Halloween or in school.” 

“Okay but… what happened?” Louis only notices now but he has also put his upper body weight on the table, his arms crossed, and all their heads are very close now. 

“What happened was a massive shooting,” Zayn continues. “A male nobody knew shot  _ all of them _ , one by one whilst  _ humming a song _ . My parents were the ones who alerted the police, telling them they heard gunshots. When the police arrived on the scene this bloke was in the middle of his mass shooting and turned to the police with the  _ maddest kind of smile _ they had ever  _ seen _ and they had no choice but to shoot him.” 

Louis swallows. 

“It was a right bloodbath, man lemme tell you, the ground red and even blood in the river. My parents said no one was allowed to swim in the lake for months after that,” Zayn says, hushed, his brown eyes wide and open. “The weird thing is, they don’t know his name. He had no ID on him, his DNA wasn’t found in any databases, no birth certificate or anything. So they named him  _ Ghost, _ ” Zayn takes a sip of his beer, his eyes staying on Louis, “because nobody has  _ ever _ seen him nor heard of him.” He shakes his head. “Well, you can believe after that happened nobody dared to come too close to the house and they had trouble selling it big time,” Zayn finishes with a shrug, taking another gulp of his beer. He relaxes back in his seat, his vivid expression dimming. 

Louis’ heart pounds heavily. He looks between the two boys, praying for a slip up, something to give him a hint that it’s a made up story to try to scare the new kid in town. He can only find sincere fear in Liam’s face. Zayn is back to his collected self. 

"What the fuck?" Louis states, because… what the fuck, innit? "I…what?" His lips flap. 

"Yeah," Liam agrees, nodding grimly, "that’s the same as my parents told me. My dad refused to do the WiFi in your house - that’s why I came over. It was huge when it happened." 

Louis remembers how bloody nervous Liam was and cringes. 

"They say the ghosts of all those who were murdered still walk on the grounds…" Liam says, lifting his brows at Louis.

"Harry told me that the house is haunted…" he murmurs, his voice nearly lost in the music, "but I just thought he wanted to freak me out. Do you guys believe in this shit? Ghosts and stuff, I mean?" Louis asks, his mouth twisting like he has bitten into a lemon. 

Liam and Zayn share a meaningful look with each other, having a conversation Louis is excluded from. Then Liam opens his mouth, inhaling air to talk, but Zayn elbows him in his ribs and Liam shuts with mouth with a wince, rubbing his flank. 

"We don’t…" Zayn answers, but it’s less than convincing. 

"Yeah, it’s just a  _ story _ . The mass shooting was real but… ghosts… hm…" Liam mumbles, his glance flickering anywhere but at Louis. 

Louis narrows his eyes. 

"Anyway, this Harry boy seems to know some things, that’s interesting," Zayn says, rubbing his chin in thought, "very much so…" The last part is more mumbled to himself than addressed at Louis and he wonders what the expression currently colouring Zayn’s features means. He doesn’t like it very much - honestly he doesn’t like this entire conversation. He is still stunned and questioning whether his mother knew before they bought the house. If she did, it was a sick thing to withhold that information from him. 

"He told me witches were burned there around 1500." 

"That's a fact, yes," Liam confirms, promptly. "We even learned about it in school." 

“Anyway,” Zayn repeats with a prolonged sigh. “Babes, can you get me another beer, please?” 

It breaks the tension and when Liam takes his seat again, putting not only one but three fresh beers on the table, the conversation turns away from his mum’s house to something more light, the topic of witches bringing up the  _ Blair Witch Project _ movie. They talk about how genius it was for the producers to use the internet for fake diaries and that kind of stuff to make it more real and how it turned into a huge success, changing the horror genre forever with  _ 'self-filmed' _ videos. This leads them to the classic horror movie series  _ Paranormal Activity _ and they dig deeper into movies like  _ Halloween _ and that kind of stuff until finally landing on softer topics when Zayn jumps right into discussing with Louis about the  _ Marvel _ movies and all their Netflix shows such as  _ Daredevil _ ,  _ The Punisher _ ,  _ Jessica Jones  _ and  _ The Defenders.  _ This conversation lasts the majority of their time at the pub. 

Alcohol flows freely. They take turns to pay and as more booze makes their heads spin and their bodies buzz, it all becomes more pleasant. They laugh a lot and make jokes and Louis tells them about Niall and their music videos and recordings, how university is going and you know,  _ normal things _ , not  _ ghosts _ and  _ mass murderers  _ and  _ shootings _ ,  _ witches _ and  _ spooky shit.  _ By the end, as Louis drinks the last bit of his beer, he has nearly forgotten how awkward it was at the beginning. 

Now, Zayn is pretty loose, cuddling close to Liam who is holding him easily. His brown eyes aren’t as dark any longer, but rather sparkle with amusement. 

Louis comes to find out that Zayn is actually quite funny and a very caring guy. A bit asocial, sure, but goofy and a good sport nonetheless. He just had to warm up to Louis, he guesses. 

As Zayn goes to fetch them yet another round, though they had actually planned to leave, Liam and Louis fall into a talk about sports, discussing the last Manchester United game and then talking of football in general. They make plans to play together sometime in Zayn’s backyard, since Liam cringed at the invitation to have a match at Louis’ house. 

This works just fine for Louis, and perhaps leaving his own four walls will even do him good. He easily agrees by the time Zayn rejoins them. 

It’s all perfect and Louis is kind of happy. He has all but forgotten about Harry, what happened, how sorry he is, and his disappointment that Harry didn’t show up at all the entire day and night. 

* * * 

Instead of calling his mother for a ride at three in the morning, Louis joined Zayn and Liam on their walk home since it’s on the way. 

Zayn and Louis are smoking whilst Liam berates them how bad it is for their lungs and how Louis needs to stop if he wants to get better at running. He goes on about expanding the volume of his lungs and maximising his endurance to which Louis replies,  _ ‘more endurance, huh? For what will I need that now, dear Liam?’ _ which sends Zayn into a fit of wheezy giggles and causes a salmon pink to creep onto Liam’s cheeks. 

However, the thing about smokers is that they are selfish and if a non-smoker tries to belittle their habit, it bonds them closer together, creating even more desire for another cigarette. And just like all of the other times, it did just that and under a disapproving look from Liam, Zayn and Louis lit two more cigarettes, sharing quiet chuckles. 

Smokers are the outcasts nowadays since in the past few years smoking is no longer allowed in any restaurants, bars, and buildings. It’s a real shame, seriously - but hey, since they have to smoke outside, they at least get some fresh air, so really who is the loser here, eh? 

As they reach the fork in their path, Zayn embraces Louis in a surprisingly soft hug. After they have parted, Liam draws him in too and both bid their goodbyes before parting at the crossroad, one leading deeper into the woods the other leading Louis straight home. 

" _ Beware of the ghosts, Lou! _ " Liam calls after him and Louis hears Zayn shush him. 

He rolls his eyes. Too happy and tired to spare such nonsense any mind, he calls back a cheerful, " _ Don’t worry, I’ll befriend them! _ " 

His steps bounce as he walks home and as he nears the driveway, he stops to light another cigarette to stall time, not ready to crawl into his lonely bed under lonely sheets just to expect unwanted company later on in the form of a tiny human. He is too drunk to endure another creepy nightwalk or nightmare. 

His gaze is directed to the house, currently set in the shadows. 

So, this is the place where a mass shooting happened.

_ Apparently _ . 

It should be earth-shattering, but somehow it just doesn’t happen. He isn’t sick, and he isn’t scared, not more than usual anyway. It’s a house. 

A house where people have died. 

Were shot.

Murdered by an unknown man. 

Louis gulps. Yeah, shit right? 

He honestly has no idea how to feel about it. He has slept in this house, his family lives here. It’s surreal to think about, like something out of a movie. It’s just… he is detached from it, like his mind hasn’t processed it just yet and is keeping it locked in a box that he can’t open or  _ maybe  _ just doesn’t want to. Huh. 

His eyes trace the wild grown English ivy that covers the red bricks and winds its way around the windows. He doesn’t want to find out how many spiders nest their homes in the tangled leaves, nope, thanks. 

It’s…

He’s too drunk, too happy to think about the deaths, that must be it. Perhaps he will have his major freak out in the morning. Maybe later, before he falls asleep, or when he has his first cup of coffee...

He stumbles over nothing, catching himself on the black barre of the iron gate. He huffs and inhales another drag. 

A movement brings his gaze away from the house and to the cars. A frown overtakes his face, setting it in a confused grimace. 

Louis blinks. It could be his mum waiting for him, right? That’s something parents do, innit? No matter how old their kids get, they still fuss about them and worry until they come home safely, but honestly his mother just isn’t the type to do something like that. It’d only lead to lack of sleep that she desperately needed, being a nurse and working mostly early morning shifts. Nothing bad had ever happened to Louis or Lottie on a night out, so she never had to worry much about them and was just happy with a quick check-in text. 

Meaning, it’s definitely not his mother or Matt. As Louis closes the gate behind him and stalks towards the figure sitting on dust, it hits him in the gut as he recognises him. His eyebrows raise slowly, creeping higher and higher. He nearly loses hold on his fag. His feet falter in their steps. 

He puffs out smoke, shakily. "Look who it is…" 

"Hi." Harry gets up, brushing dirt off his jeans. There is an apprehensive expression on his sharp features. "Sorry, I didn’t come, I—" 

"It’s okay, I had a great time," Louis edges in, holding up his palm because  _ fuck _ , he isn’t in the mood to talk about what happened between them yesterday. He wants to stay in his contented head space. Despite all that happened between them, it was a nice night and he wants to hold on to it as long as he can, not knowing what is to come when his face hits the pillow. 

"Did you?" Harry raises his brows. 

"Yeah. Liam and Zayn are kind, super-duper lovely people." Louis shrugs, passing him to get to the front door. His neck prickles as Harry follows him. 

"So you’re gonna see them again?" he asks, hot on Louis’ heels. 

"Sure, yeah, yeah. Liam and I are gonna go jogging Sunday and dunno perhaps have a football match at Zayn’s place after that. Maybe we’ll get Zayn to play with us, but  _ dunno _ he really has this weird hatred for sports." Louis chuckles, suddenly out of breath, swallowing heavy and stumping his roll of tobacco out on the step before picking up the used filter and pocketing it in his cigarette pack. He unlocks the door and his keys jingle, the sound too loud in the eerie atmosphere. "Anyway, what are you doing here?" he asks, turning and peering at Harry who stares back. 

"I… wanted to apologise for yesterday." Harry’s shoulders sag. "How I just left, that wasn’t right. I’m sorry, Louis, please let me explain?" 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, grinding his flesh in his teeth. Harry’s words bring him right out of his joyous place back to earth where all his sorrow is buried beneath a blanket of alcohol. Harry unwraps it slowly with green sad eyes and broken voice and Louis doesn’t want that - he doesn’t want to feel bad, doesn’t want to talk. 

"It’s fine. If you don’t want to have sex with me, there is no pressure. It’s okay." Louis is too drunk for this, his words insensitive and cruel. He doesn’t mean it and actually wanted to apologise, but somehow that’s not possible because he is  _ drunk, drunk, drunk  _ and Harry didn’t come around, left him drowning in guilt all day and didn’t show his pretty — so pretty, gosh — face at the pub and Louis worried himself  _ sick _ , thought he fucked up whatever he thought they had. Perhaps it was nothing. Louis pouts. 

"Yeah, but still… I felt really sick when I left you there… like — that wasn’t right. That just wasn’t right." Harry keeps repeating those words as if that way he truly will get his point across, and show how very sorry he is. Louis wonders why all of a sudden he had a change of heart, when they could have talked about it directly instead of leaving Louis hanging in worry and self-hatred. Harry’s face, layered with pain, flashes in front of his inner eye and he flinches, clenching his hands into tight fists. 

"No, it wasn’t. But it was my fault," Louis ends up saying, his tongue speaking too fast for his brain to stop it. His heart pounds. He can’t be a dick, he just can’t do it. "I mean, I was all over you." He wrinkles his nose at the memory. 

Harry swallows. "I was too though. All over you, I mean. And then just running away is kind of unfair." 

_ Yes _ . 

"It’s okay." Louis gives a full body shrug. 

"I missed you today," Harry confesses quietly and Louis softens. 

"Let’s talk about everything in the morning. I’m…"  _ tired, so tired. _

"Okay. Yes, okay, we can do that." 

They stare at each other for another quiet moment. 

Louis inhales deeply, chewing on his bottom lip as Harry shifts his weight, but doesn’t turn to leave. 

"Do you want to... stay over?" Louis asks carefully, holding his breath as he awaits an answer. 

"Do you want me to?" Harry asks, surprise painted clearly on his face. "I mean…really?" 

"If you can bear to sleep in a bed with me…" Louis averts his eyes to the ground, kicking the heel of his shoes against the steps which Louis heaved all the moving boxes up on the first day. 

"Of course," Harry says softy, taking a step towards Louis and cupping his cheek, "of course I want to sleep next to you." 

Louis blinks, eyes zipping from Harry’s left to right, searching for a catch, something that will tell him if it’s really alright. All he can find is a shine of faint happiness in the moonlit jade green. 

His shoulders sag and he allows himself a relieved smile. 

* * * 

They sneak upstairs and lock the door behind them. 

Harry is the first to slip into bed and after Louis returns from the bathroom — he’s still a bit wary about the light bulb, checking every so often for a flicker or another sign that it will turn the world around him to blackness once more, but it doesn’t happen and he is relieved every time he leaves the bathroom — he too joins Harry under the covers, and they turn face to face.

Both are quiet, both watching the other with nervous eyes. 

Neither of them is breathing it seems like. 

Louis bites on his bottom lip. 

"So how was your evening then?" Harry murmurs, tugging more onto the edge of the blanket to draw it over his shoulder. 

"Nice, honestly. Zayn and Liam are great," Louis replies. "You’d like them,” he adds as an afterthought.

Harry’s eyes shy away. "Not so sure about that." 

Louis’ throat rumbles in protest. "Why do you say that? I mean okay, gotta say, Zayn’s a bit of a character you have to get used to, a bit awkward at first but aren’t we all? I am, definitely." 

"I don’t get along with many people…" 

"Zayn doesn’t either." 

"Of course not…" Harry mumbles, closing his eyes. "Zayn is a total weirdo." 

"Uh, wait… what?" 

Harry purses his lips. "Forget it. I’m glad you made… friends." He scrunches his nose at the word as if it’s dirty and rolls onto his back with a shuddered exhale. 

"Harry," Louis whines, not following what’s going on, not really. His mind is dizzy and the fact that Harry is with him in bed is only adding to it. "You can’t just say shit and leave me hanging." 

Harry turns to look at him, peeking at him through one eye as he closes the other. "Sure can," he says, a cheeky sleepy smile caressing his lips. 

"So you guys know each other?" Louis blinks, propping himself onto his elbow. He is drunk and confused. His mind can’t process all of this.

"Well, not directly," Harry muses. "I know  _ of _ him for sure, his family has lived in this town for a long time and old folks know old folks." 

"So your parents know his parents?" Louis guesses, his forehead wrinkled as even more irritation washes over him. Hadn’t Zayn said that he doesn’t know Harry?

"No, they never met. I don’t think so." 

"Okay, stop feeding me bullshit, Harry." Louis rolls his eyes, getting annoyed. He sinks his face into his pillow. 

There is a soft touch on his bare shoulder and he resurfaces. 

"I know Zayn because he was obsessed with this house, too. We ran into one another a few times at least, but I don’t think he knows my name…we didn’t talk." 

"Oh, okay." That sounds logical... "But," or not, "I thought they were all avoiding this house?" 

Harry nods. "Most do, but Zayn is a bit different, weird… so of course he’d like to check it out. Since his family lives close by and all, it’s easy to come and go without trouble." 

Louis’ eyes roll heavenward, and he swallows. "Did you know that people were murdered here?" he whispers, rotating towards Harry who stares at him with parted lips. "Zayn and Liam told me and this guy came over and was like  _ 'you’re crazy to live in this house' _ , totally fucked up. But… it’s…" Louis glances around his shadowed room, "scary, isn’t it? Do you know anything about that?" 

At first Harry is silent, dragging his eyes over every inch of Louis’ face before directing his gaze to the ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobs forcefully. "I know what happened here," Harry says with a quiet voice. "Everybody thinks they do too." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Uh, the police were rather stupid. The case was a puzzle for them. I mean," Harry snorts, shaking his head to himself, " _ obviously _ , small town police men aren’t trained for a situation like this, so they made some mistakes along the way…" 

"And?" Louis holds his breath in suspense. 

"And nothing. There was a very nice family living here, lovely people," Harry says, his tone drained of any emotions, robotic, "and then there was this… guy who thought ‘ _ hey today is a great day to go around killing people’  _ — the end." 

Louis exhales in a big puff. "Fuck off," he shudders a laugh, slapping Harry’s arm. 

Harry grins cheekily at him. 

"I mean who cares, right? The witch's story is much better,  _ spookier _ . And do you really want to think about who was murdered by whom whilst you’re about to go to sleep?" Harry lifts his brows dubiously as he considers him, his expression still amused. 

He has a point. 

"No," Louis sighs, his body slumping, "guess not." 

"See, I can tell you a story about a doll that ate little children, though. That’s more fun." 

"Beg to differ." 

"It goes like this —”

“Harry no…” Louis’ groan is talked over, however. 

“There was this little girl walking past a children toy’s store with her mummy and she spotted this beautiful doll which was holding up six fingers and had a nice little frozen smile on her lips. The girl tugged on her mummy’s skirt begging for the doll as a gift for her sixth birthday. Mummy of course agreed and they went into the tiny store." Harry smiles at Louis. "And there was this saleswoman, old and wrinkled behind the counter and as the mummy asked for the doll in the window, the old saleswoman hesitated but showed them the doll nonetheless. As mummy went to buy it, the woman told her in a very serious voice,  _ 'don’t leave your child alone with the doll'. _ The mummy of course said yes just to get out of the weird store and went home with her child and her girl’s new pretty doll." Harry stops and licks his lips, his eyes narrowing, "Wanna know the rest of the story or…" he trails off, grinning wickedly.

Louis nods weakly, taking a very good guess at what’s going to happen. Harry’s voice draws him back into it and he can’t help but hold his breath as Harry continues. 

"So, mummy and child are at home. The little girl is so happy about her new best friend and drags it with her anywhere she goes. Time passes, everything is well, and the warning from this odd saleswoman long forgotten. The mummy has to go and tells her girl she will be back soon and please don’t open the door to strangers. Girly girl agrees and runs to her room, finally having more free time to play. But when she arrives, the doll is gone." 

"No!" Louis gasps, exaggerated. Harry throws him an unimpressed gaze. Louis waves an airy hand. “Okay, go on, c’mon." 

"Yeah, yeah…" Harry nods, laughing breathily. "Alright. So this little girl is of course confused and spins around looking everywhere, but she doesn’t find her best friend. So she calls out  _ 'doll, where are you?' _ and suddenly there is a reply:  _ 'in the restroom, come and get me'.  _ The little girl skips to the bathroom, peeking inside…" Harry’s smile sharpens, and Louis slaps his shoulder again for him to keep telling the story. Harry narrows his eyes and lowers his voice. "It, however, was empty. No doll in the bathroom." 

"Shit…" Louis chuckles, squirming. "Okay…" 

"So, she again, calls out,  _ 'doll, where are you?' _ and the doll replies,  _ 'I’m in your mummy’s room, come and get me!'  _ so the girl makes her way to her mummy’s room." 

"It’s empty…" Louis groans, covering his eyes. 

"Shh, lemme finish, don’t ruin it," Harry tuts, this time slapping Louis’ shoulder for a change. "It’s empty," he says lamely, rolling his eyes. "So  _ again _ , the little girl calls out to the doll asking the same question and the doll replies,  _ 'I’m in your bedroom, come and play with me.' _ The little girl goes back to her bedroom, and there sits the doll on her bed with her frozen smile. The girl hesitates in the doorway, and the doll calls out,  _ 'come a bit closer,' _ so the girl takes a step towards it. The doll calls again,  _ 'come a bit closer,' _ and again the girl steps a bit more towards it. Again the doll calls out,  _ 'closer _ ,' and as the girl reaches the doll, the doll opens its mouth and whispers,  _ 'seven' _ ." 

"The mum comes home. The house is silent, creepily so. She calls out to her daughter, but there is no reply and as she walks up the stairs she finds the doll sitting on her kid’s bed, a creepy smile in place, her Sunday dress covered in blood, and her little girl dead on the floor. When she looks in horror at the doll again, slowly the doll holds up another finger to show seven in total." Harry grins sinisterly. "A year later, another little girl passes by a window of a children’s toy store, a doll catching her eye and she tugs on her mum’s skirt. The mum agrees to buy the doll and both enter the shop. The old saleswoman goes to get the doll from the window and when she shows it to them, the doll has the same frozen smile, a fresh dress, but now she holds up  _ seven _ fingers…" 

There is a beat of silence where both eye one another. 

Louis is the first to break and chuckles, ignoring his pounding heart. “Sweet dreams, I guess." 

"I couldn’t sleep when Johnny told me the story." 

"It’s fucking creepy. I hate dolls." 

"Me too. My sister had this weird fucking doll and after Johnny told me the story, I wouldn’t stay in the room with that thing."

Louis raises his eyebrows, perplexed. "You have a sister?" 

"Uh, oh…" Harry fish-mouths at him. "I, well, yeah I do." 

"Why didn’t I know this before?" Louis asks. "I told you all about Lottie!" 

"I mean, my sister and I aren’t close anymore. Honestly, there isn’t much to talk about." 

"Why?" Louis pouts. "What happened?" 

Harry itches his nose. "Things she doesn’t understand, she’s… well." 

"Like your parents?" 

"Something like that. She’s mute, doesn’t talk." 

Louis’ eyes widen. "Seriously? Like at all?" 

"Nope, she just… doesn’t. Not to me, not to my parents, not to anybody. She can talk but she refuses to do so… I’m not sure why, but my guess is that she has seen too much of the evil in this world." 

The abuse Harry had talked about creeps into his thoughts and it’s so much creepier than the doll story. His heart weighs heavy in his chest and their former fight is forgotten as Louis reaches out and rubs Harry’s shoulder. 

"It is what it is," Harry murmurs, closing his eyes and interlocking his fingers with Louis’. "Let’s sleep. I’m too tired to talk now." 

* * * 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, again. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed ch. 6 and it was worth the long wait. There won't be a chapter on Thursday because it's not ready yet! But hopefully next week it is. 
> 
> If you liked it, leave a comment, give kudos, come talk to me on [tumblr](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/) and/or reblog [this tumblr post I made](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/post/188726753141/join-me-in-the-afterlife-by-guccikings)
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> I am so so sorry that it took me so long to update! Life was so hectic and overall a bit crazy with the holidays and everything. BUT it is here now and I hope you guys enjoy ch. 7. 
> 
> !!! TW: a character outing another character, I apologise for that in advance, I am so SO sorry, please read carefully, stay safe, ily !!!

*** * ***

"What are you doing?" Harry mumbles next to him, startling Louis so much that his fingers twitch on the keyboard, typing  _ 'jiahdfs' _ into the Google search bar. 

He pouts and deletes it, sighing and smiling at Harry. "I wanted to look up this house, do my own research. Hate hearing it all second hand from someone out of this town.” He pauses a beat, before adding, more or less pointedly, “That includes you." 

" _ Hey _ , I give excellent information," Harry pouts, combing through his fluffy fringe.

Louis snorts.

"Well, do that later. Let’s cuddle for a while before you have to go downstairs for breakfast." 

Louis’ eyes dart to the Google search results, his heart torn seeing that Harry looks still half-asleep and extra cozy. Harry’s hand creeps below the blanket, squeezing Louis’ naked thigh and honestly, the research is important, but Harry is even more so. Therefore, he exits the internet and shuts his laptop, twisting his body to place the device on the ground. He snuggles close to the other boy as he opens his arms and pulls him in with surprising strength. 

Harry is warm and Louis sighs against his skin as Harry plants a kiss on top of his head. "I wish you could come with me, but I don’t know... my mum was pretty clear where Matt stands with gayish things, I guess. I’m sorry. I hate it." 

Harry strokes his back. "That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it? Hiding who you are from someone who already calls you  _ 'son' _ ? I really don’t understand the concept." 

"I don’t want to cause trouble between them." 

"What happens when you get married…to a man?" 

"Dunno," Louis muses, not having thought that far ahead. "My mum has to tell him eventually, but maybe I’ll just keep it a secret and get married somewhere far away, not telling anyone.” He purses his lips, thinking of an adventure, hopping on a spontaneous flight on a whim. “Oh, a trip to Vegas would be nice, eh…" 

"Vegas sounds like bullshit." Harry brushes the idea to the side with a firm voice and a snort. "You deserve something lovelier than that. Proper romantic for real, with doves and flowers everywhere or on the beach or in a castle. A castle would be kinda cool. I mean, that’s really cheesy but... I’d like to get married there." His fingers tap in an aimless rhythm on Louis’ shoulder, pressing softly into his flesh. 

A meek, fond smile steals itself on Louis’ lips. "Yeah, a castle sounds great. Maybe a midnight wedding under a full moon." 

"I like full moons, perfect."

Louis pauses. 

Are they planning  _ their wedding _ ? 

They are  _ so _ planning their wedding… 

"What colour would you wear?" Louis asks, his voice thin. Nervous, he holds very still in Harry’s arms. "Nah, don’t tell me. I’ll take a guess and go with black." 

"Of course, I’d smash a black tux." 

Louis can only agree, imagining Harry’s hair tidy and combed back — though small curls still find their way to frame his face and fall into his vision — while he is standing by the altar looking like Prince Charming in his neat black suit. Maybe a little white flower would be sticking out of his chest pocket. It would be the perfect summer night, not too cold in the shadows and the moon would cast the castle in a wonderful, magical glow. The picture vividly painted in his mind brings his heart rate up embarrassingly quickly while in his tummy roars a flutter of little soft wings. 

Harry’s fingers stop tapping on his shoulder bone and it takes another moment for him to take a step back out of his fantasy and realise that Harry has asked him a question. 

“What was that?” Louis asks, his voice rough. He blinks rapidly until the last bit of the imaginary wedding is wiped out of his mind. 

“What colour would you be wearing, I asked.” 

"Oh… I would too, black all the way, yeah." 

"Or grey would work too, because you know, we’re gay." 

"Funny," Louis deadpans. 

Harry’s chest vibrates with giggles. "I’m very funny." 

Louis makes an  _ 'mhmm' _ sound, causing Harry to slap his arm. 

"Tell me one good joke." 

"The grey-gay joke wasn’t good enough for you?" Harry pouts, tugging on a strand of Louis’ hair. 

"Nope, try harder." Louis hides his smile in Harry’s exposed skin.

" _ 'Uhm…' _ said the first horse that got ridden." 

"Jesus," Louis chuckles, closing his eyes for a second. “I said a  _ good _ joke, H.” 

"I was playing chess with my friend and he said:  _ 'Let's make this more fun.' _ So we stopped playing chess." 

"These are so lame," Louis huffs, just to be difficult. 

"Yeah? Tell a better one, I dare you…”

“Oh, oh, I see. You dare me, huh? Is that so?” 

“Yep,” Louis can hear Harry’s grin in the spoken word. 

Okay, the pressure is on, let’s see, let’s see… 

Louis’ brain has already spit out a joke about a wife and her husband, but before he gets a chance to make Harry laugh, there are a few knocks on the door. His mother’s voice calls out, "Breakfast’s ready!" and ruins it for him. 

Fuck. Time’s up.

"I’m not hungry," Louis lies, cuddling more into Harry. 

"Its fine,” Harry assures him. “You go downstairs. I’ll play around a bit on your guitar." 

"Still don’t want to.  _ Hmpf _ ." 

* * * 

Matt and Jay are talking amongst themselves in the kitchen when Louis ambles down the stairs, his feet heavy and his heart still hung up in the bedroom. 

"There he is," Jay chirps, helping herself to some coffee. "How was last night?" 

Louis plops down and shrugs. "Fine," he muses, snatching some toast and buttering it before slamming some jam on top, determined to finish breakfast as fast as he can to join Harry. His legs jiggle below the table as he takes the first bite. "Fun," he adds with a full mouth. 

Jay nods, Matt is more interested in the paper, and Louis is halfway through his toast with two more huge bites. 

"Met anyone of interest?" 

"No." 

"Perhaps your new friends would like to come over for dinner sometime?" Jay coaxes. 

Louis huffs. "They won’t. They don’t like your house very much." He slows down a bit, letting his toast plop onto his plate. "Hey mum… did you know here was a—" he doesn’t get a chance to finish his question. 

Footsteps alert him and he frowns, clicking his mouth shut as his heart beats in his chest like a bird trying to escape. His ears perk. 

It can’t be, right? 

Harry wouldn’t... 

Louis’ head whips around and, sure enough, his disbelieving eyes spot Harry walking through the doorway, a cheerful smile on his face as if it’s just like any other morning. Louis’ jaw slackens, unable to help it. 

"Good morning, everyone," Harry says, lifting his hand for a quick wave, smiling at Matt and Jay. "I’m Harry." 

For one moment, Louis’ mind blacks out from shock or something, a white ringing noise putting pressure on his ears. He can’t come up with a single good explanation for Harry’s appearance. Sure, it’s true, Louis hated ‘hiding’ Harry, or more like there was never a real occasion for him to meet Jay. They were either always gone or Harry and Louis were off doing their own thing. This feels too close to being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He sits numbly on his seat, slowly resurfacing from the void and shaking himself out of it. 

Louis stares at him, but Harry avoids meeting his gaze. Louis narrows his eyes.

"Oh, uh, uhm," his mother stammers, flustered. She’s the first to recover fully from the surprise that is a ‘strange’ boy walking into their kitchen. Quickly, she gets up, accepting Harry’s hand, which he had held out for a handshake. "I didn’t… uh," her eyes flicker to Louis, a thousand questions reeling in her gaze. "If I would have had any idea — oh, dear, I’m sorry. I’m Jay." 

Harry nods with another dimpled smile. He releases her hand and comes to a stand behind Louis’ chair. 

Matt keeps looking between them. 

Louis can basically see the wheels turning in his brain, connecting the dots. He averts his eyes to the table, his stomach turning, pushing his few bites of toast back up as alarm bells go off in his mind. 

_ Think, think, think _ , a voice chants inside him. It still takes a good half a minute for him to find his voice.

"Uhm, sorry mum. Harry crashed here last night since it was late and yeah, uh… I offered him a place to stay since… he was… really drunk." He clears his airways, coughing into his fist and avoiding looking at Matt. He keeps his eyes fixed on his mother, whose cheeks are red - perhaps from surprise about their unexpected visitor, or from the fact that Matt is amongst them shooting her a questioning gaze, or because she is still in her baby pink morning robe with her hair untidy and her face make-up free. 

"That’s fine," she says and rounds the table, quick on her feet even while wearing grandma-loafers. "Would you like some coffee, Harry? Or tea? Milk? I think we have some pineapple juice somewhere. Apple juice, too." 

"Anything works," Harry says with a soothing voice. "I’m not too fussy." He cups Louis’ neck with a warm hand.

Louis sends his stepfather a jittery glance, who has of course noticed. Matt stares at Harry’s hand on Louis’ skin and as he catches Louis’ eye, he huffs and his head disappears in the newspaper. 

Louis shakes Harry’s hand off, only feeling a tiny bit shitty about it. Annoyance and anger overpower the guilt, buzzing through his body. He starts chewing on his lip, being too aware of Harry’s presence behind him. After everything Louis has told Harry about Matt and the entirety of the situation, how the hell does this boy dare to come down here like it’s a completely normal thing and play him this dirty? Is it a game to him or summat? A joke? To have a laugh right in Louis’ face after everything?  _ Seriously? _ How would Harry feel if Louis ambushed him out of nowhere? He wouldn’t like that very much, Louis bets, chewing harshly on his lip until he can taste blood. 

Jay fixes Harry a cup of chamomile tea and sets it on the table with a clink. She pulls the chair next to her from under the table and offers it to Harry, who goes easily and smiles at her in passing. 

Louis releases his lip, licking over it and tasting metal.

"Thank you Jay," he says, nodding. He takes the cup between his palms, brings his nose close to the steamy surface of the tea, and inhales deeply. "It smells lovely." 

Jay gives him a twitchy smile in return and takes the last bite of her toast, sending Louis another of her puzzled looks.  _ Yeah, same mum, same... _

Louis casts his eyes downward. 

Awkward silence spreads over the breakfast table like thick, smoky fog. 

Louis doesn’t know what to say, how to turn this around or make it go away. He wishes he could just close his eyes and pretend it all would be over and done with. He wishes he would have stayed in bed and skipped breakfast altogether. He wishes he would have introduced Harry from the beginning. He wishes… he wishes… 

When Louis looks up, he instantly makes unwanted eye contact with Harry. 

That fucker has the fucking nerve to fucking wink at him coyly, shooting him a bright smile. The guess that it’s all a game to Harry transforms into a conclusion and Louis’ expression darkens. 

Louis wants to go over to him, shake his shoulders, and scream in his face,  _ 'what is the matter with you?' _ but that would raise even more questions. His hands ball into fists below the table instead. 

"Harry and I met at the pub when I went the first time," Louis says with a pressed voice. He hates it, but he feels compelled to explain more, to break the silence. Cringing inwardly, he continues, "We ran into each other again last night and yeah, well. He was pissed so I basically had  _ no choice _ but to walk him here. I mean it was late, right and he couldn’t give me proper directions to his home.” This is stupid, so bloody stupid. He looks between Jay and Matt before adding to make sure they all fucking know  _ nothing _ happened, “He fell asleep like the dead. Dunno." His chest flutters in anxiety at his whirlwind of lies and he starts kneading his knuckles, hoping it will relieve some of the tension. Fun fact: it doesn’t. 

Jay seems to believe it though, concern flashing over her face for the boy by her side. "We have some aspirin, sweetie, if you’d like?" 

Louis huffs, but when she shoots him a displeased frown at his rude behaviour probably, he scrubs a hand over his face and bites the tip of his tongue. His lips are still cracked open, therefore his tongue has to keep up with his way of coping and can’t get up and run. 

Harry, thank fuck, is quick to react, playing along. Hey, come to think of it, it’s the least he can do, innit? Ugh. 

"Oh, no thank you. I never suffer from any sort of hangovers, I’m blessed like that." He waves an airy hand, a permanent overly polite smile curling at his mouth and his cheeks dimpling sweetly. 

_ He’s the devil dressed as an angel,  _ Louis thinks. Harry truly looks all too innocent though he knows exactly what he is doing. 

Jay is goo, batting her eyes at him prettily. 

Louis rolls his eyes, but at least she’s taken with Harry enough to ask no further questions. Instead, she takes a sip of coffee and helps herself to some more toast. 

Matt on the other hand sends Harry a funny look and that cannot mean any good. 

Louis gulps his coffee just to have something to do. 

"Where do you work, Harry?" Matt grunts. 

"Oh, my family doesn’t believe in work." 

Louis chokes on his coffee, coughing violently into his palms. His watery eyes dart to Harry. 

"They what?" Matt snaps. 

Jay, too, has stopped chewing and all eyes are now fixed on Harry, who seems to be completely at peace. He leans back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach and not caving under the family’s attention. Harry must have been quite a supreme presentation speaker in school. 

"They don’t believe in work. My parents aren’t much for money, so I take care of them both which leaves no real time to think about university or jobs. It works well though." 

"Does it?" Matt sizes him up with a dubious gaze.

"Yes, sir, it does." 

"Interesting…" Matt mutters, pulling a grimace and sending Louis a look that lets him know just how  _ interesting _ he’s finding Harry. 

This is a disaster. Louis feels like he is watching a car race down the street knowing it can’t make the upcoming turn. His nervous system is set on fire. His leg bounces.  _ We’re gonna crash, we’re gonna crash… _

Louis sends Harry a pleading gaze  _ to stop fucking talking, _ but Harry isn’t looking at him. Harry licks his lips, his eyes on Matt. 

"Of course, that doesn’t stop my parents from letting other people work for them, though." Harry grins and Louis thinks he is enjoying this way too much, like a cat playing with a mouse, poking exactly where he knows he will hit a nerve in Matt’s system. "We own a hostel and a little farm. You wouldn’t have heard of it, I’m sure.” He pauses, glancing to the side before bringing his attention back to Matt. “Travellers get a bed for free when they work for my family for as long as they’d like to stay there. My parents might be sick, but they’re smart as the… devil. Smarter even, maybe." 

Louis blinks at Harry, baffled. Harry blinks back at him, calmly. 

“A farm and a hostel,” Matt echoes with a toneless voice. “Hear, hear.” 

Harry nods. “We work as a cheap shelter system in a way. Runaways find a safe space with us or people who want to get away from their past for a while. We don’t make a lot of money, of course, but we get by fine.” 

Matt is too caught off guard to have anything more to say to that, Jay is pleased to at least have an explanation of some sort, and Louis’ head is swimming in a sea of confusion. 

Why hasn’t he heard about any of this before? Harry was always so secretive about his family. For fuck’s sake, Louis didn’t even know he had a sister until last night and now he is revealing all of this to Louis’  _ family _ as if everyone should know it already. Harry is so strange. Louis had never thought about how Harry gets by, actually, and it stuns him. Why hasn’t he? Harry knows all about his university shit and Bristol and his gigs with Niall and yet here he is, never having asked about what Harry works as or what his family does. Wow. Perhaps Harry is not secretive, but Louis is just self-centered. Ouch. 

Harry’s voice lends him a helping hand to bring him out of his thoughts. "Jay, would it be all right if I spend the day with Louis? Dunno if he told you, but we had some plans for today." 

That’s news. 

Jay blinks, sending Louis a look with raised eyebrows before giving a meager shrug. "Of course, why not?" 

"Thank you, Jay, — Matt." Harry nods, smiling at both before his eyes snap to Louis. "Are you done with breakfast?" 

Louis jumps right out of his chair instead of giving an answer and brings his cup plus plate to the dishwasher, first throwing the rest of his toast into the rubbish before turning and waiting by the door as Harry says his goodbyes and ‘nice to meet you’s’ to Matt and Jay. 

The moment they are back in his room and the door is slammed shut behind his back, Louis’ body releases buzzing anxiety in a big whirling whoosh. Dipping his chin to his chest, he takes a calming breath, counting to eight before exhaling and then counting to ten. It doesn’t work. The anxiety might be gone, but anger bubbles underneath the surface, causing his hands to ball into shaking fists by his sides. 

“C’mon Lou…” Harry says, a nervous lilt in his deep voice. Right, now that they are alone, he is nervous, not like when he marched into the kitchen, ready to ruin a bit more of Louis’ summer. 

His eyes snap to Harry. “ _ C’mon Lou… _ ” Louis mocks, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you being serious?” 

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” Harry lifts his brows, considering Louis. 

The door that kept his anger at bay bursts open and before he can think through his actions, he pushes against Harry’s chest. Somehow that seems to be funny to him, because Harry chuckles. He  _ chuckles  _ right into Louis’ face. 

"What the fuck?" Louis snarls, poking a finger against Harry’s sternum. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He pushes him again, just to wipe that fucking humourous look off of his face, but instead Harry starts laughing as he stumbles back and catches himself at the footrest of the bed. 

"Are you mad?" Louis growls. "Are you out of your fucking mind coming downstairs like that? What was that about? I fucking told you about Matt! Now he… knows," he huffs the last part, ruffling his hair as frustration grows in his gut. He paces in front of Harry, up, spin, down, spin, and repeat.

"I’m sorry," Harry deadpans. 

Louis rolls his eyes, scoffing, "Liar. You’re not." 

"Nope, I’m not.” At Harry’s words Louis stops dead in his tracks, staring at Harry. “C’mon it wasn’t that bad. Now you can invite your mum to your wedding at least." 

"Yeah… perhaps not so much now that Matt knows. I dunno what will happen." 

" _ Nothing _ will happen." 

" _ Everything _ could happen." 

They stare at each other, neither budging. At least now all amusement has left Harry’s expression. 

"Louis, I don’t understand the big deal, honestly. Matt probably won’t even have caught on, right?" Harry takes a careful step towards him, maintaining eye contact. "Don’t be like that… you told them I passed out cold, so all Matt knows is that you’re a good friend taking care of me and not leaving me behind at a pub." He is now so close that his breath fans over Louis’ face. “Think about it, this is normal, right? Nothing out of the ordinary. No one is gonna draw the conclusion that we had anything going on.”

Louis averts his eyes to the ground. Harry lifts his chin with thumb and index, forcing their gazes to crash and burn. Green meets blue and Louis pauses, his breath trapped in his body. For once Harry looks sincere. 

“I didn’t think it through.” Harry rolls his eyes at himself, bobbing his head side to side. “Like, my family might be fucked up but… it was never like a biggie. I didn’t know sexuality was even a big thing, you know? I just thought you like who you like, right? I grew up with that mentality. It’s a bit odd to me to think a man loving another man is wrong. Like,  _ why? I _ didn’t think that it was this big of a thing. It’s weird to me.” 

“You weren’t aware that sexuality existed? That homophobia existed?” Louis’ eyebrows lift. 

Harry shakes his head in tiny motions, and he mouths,  _ ‘no’ _ . 

“Like, seriously?” 

“I guess we grew up very differently.” Harry dares to smile. 

“Yeah,” Louis huffs a breathless, unbelieving chuckle, “I’d say so.” 

A beat passes and the fight dims in Louis’ body. He relaxes into Harry’s touch, which has wandered to cup the side of his neck. Fine, you can’t be mad at someone who apparently doesn’t know any better. And besides, it’s not like Matt has to have figured it out, innit? Louis hopes bitterly that he didn’t expose himself with his own reaction. Also, he was caught off guard by Harry just appearing out of nowhere, so sue him for nearly experiencing a fucking stroke. 

"Fine, but please, Harry, just don’t pull something like that again. I swear I nearly had a heart attack. Outing someone can be fucking dangerous."

“Seriously?” Harry pulls an extremely disbelieving face. 

“Yes. Outing someone else is  _ disgusting _ . You just don’t do something like that. It’s a big fat  _ no-go _ . Please promise me...”

“Of course, promise. I… didn’t, I… okay.” 

“Okay,” Louis echoes, with a meagre smile. 

“You’re really cute when you’re angry.” 

“Pshh, I’m not.” 

“You so are, like a little kitten, cute.”

“Fuck off,” Louis huffs. 

Harry sobers, his expression modifying to look sheepish. “Are we okay though?” Harry asks, tenderly. “Okay enough for me to kiss you?” 

Louis answers with a peck to the soft curve of Harry’s lips, his heart torn but softened by the sincerity that shines through Harry’s jade eyes. 

* * *

It’s evening when Jay knocks on his bedroom door. Harry had left about ten minutes ago and Louis was already awaiting this particular moment with dread. His heart picks up as she comes into his room and sits delicately at the edge of his bed, considering him with reticence. 

Neither of them says anything for a few heartfelt beats.

Louis lowers his gaze, picking on the skin around his thumbnail before bringing it to his lips and nibbling on his fingertip. "So, Harry…" he starts, knowing fully well that is why she is here and not downstairs enjoying a glass of wine with Matt. 

"He seems nice," Jay smiles. 

His eyebrows tilt upwards in doubt. "Does he now?" 

"Confident, he seems confident," Jay says with a delayed sigh. "I guess I could get used to having him around. Do you like him?" 

Right, Jay thinks they have only met twice. She is oblivious to the fact that Harry has been sleeping over and has spent loads of time under the same roof as her. He smiles at that. It feels mischievous in a way, like a little secret between Harry and Louis. He drops the thought before she gets wind of his growing smugness. 

"I do," Louis nods. "I mean…he’s something else." Sensitive yet cocky, talented but too humble to admit it himself, and perhaps a bit stupid with technology. Louis is still confused about that. He would have thought that Harry would be a tumblr kind of guy, sharing quotes from famous authors like Hemingway or something really depressive like:  _ 'I drown in my own misery' _ or  _ ’Self-love isn’t selfish'. _ Or maybe even the grunge party pictures that are all but plastered over that website. Louis himself had gotten into it for a bit after Lottie showed him how to use it, but it wasn’t his thing and he deleted his account rather quickly. Instagram does it for him just fine, liking pictures of dogs and sunsets… 

"Yeah, he has this… charisma around him," Jay agrees, pulling Louis out of his thoughts.

He blinks at her, having nearly forgotten what they were talking about. "What about Matt, huh? He didn’t seem to like Harry very much." 

"Don’t worry about him. I’m happy you’ve found a few friends here." 

"Friends?" Louis wrinkles his nose. "You think Harry and I are just friends? Really?" 

"Well… that’s all Matt needs to know." 

So a wedding in secret it is. 

Louis’ shoulders sag. 

"Do you really think he’d flip?" 

She shrugs, gazing away. "We haven’t discussed much of that kind of stuff, honestly. I don’t know, darling. If you and Harry get serious, I’ll talk to him." 

"How serious is  _ serious _ for you?" 

Jay’s expression turns perplexed. "Why? You like him that much already?" 

Louis shrugs meekly.

Yes. He does.  _ Geez,  _ it’s been only a few short weeks with this boy and yet they have already had a conversation about their wedding. Well,  _ okay _ , they joked about it, alright, but still...

"We’ll figure it out," she says, brushing hair off his forehead. 

Louis hopes they do. 

* * * 

Sunday passes in a cloud of boredom, in which Louis is either asleep or listening to music. He definitely avoids running into Matt, though the ominous feeling that he isn’t wanted in his mother’s house is pulling him under, drowning him and tearing at the walls of his mind as he tosses in bed. He wonders how he could turn it all around and fix what Harry has done. 

It’s tricky. Sure, Louis has forgiven Harry for it in a way, but as the day wears on, his anger resurfaces towards the boy because fucking hell, Louis can’t deal with this anxiety. His bones are stiff with angst and for the first time in a long while, his thoughts wander to his former stepfather Mark. He thinks of how well he took it when he found out that Louis didn’t like the girls he introduced him to and hugged him when he confessed, — well, not  _ confessed _ , that’s the wrong word — when he finally told Mark that he really isn’t into girls, no matter how pretty, smart, or witty. Nothing changed in how Mark treated Louis, as if Louis had merely told him that he prefers red wine over white wine. Mark went with it, easygoing and nice, probably also not all too fussed with Louis’ personal life because his work took up a lot of his thinking space. Mark was good to Louis and Lottie, took them on as his own. They were young and happy to have a make-do kind of family, though both were aware that Jay didn’t… well, they liked him much more than she did. Louis is still unsure why because honestly he’d prefer Mark any day over Matt. It was a short but nice time.

It is what it is and as long as Louis isn’t going to marry Mark himself — which there is no way in hell that would happen — he can’t bring him back into this family. He just has to be okay with Matt. Ha, see, he —  _ Louis _ — has to be okay with Matt. It’s ironic because Matt is the… expanded part of the family, right? Not Louis.  _ He _ is the new guy, so he is meant to blend himself into how this family works, not the other bloody way around. Fuck. 

This sucks, all of it. 

A tiny voice in Louis’ mind whispers to him that there is a possibility that Matt doesn’t hate him and is not a homophobe. It whispers that it might be fine, that Louis is just a chicken and awkward. Of course that could be true as well. At this point what Louis told Harry still stands:  _ everything could happen.  _

Around midday, the walls of his room feel suffocating, as if they are closing in on him, threatening to crush him. He can’t take it anymore, none of it. If he doesn’t find relief, he will die, choke on the stream of thoughts that just won’t stop coming. Louis wishes he had something to keep his mind off things, but nothing on the internet, not even any Netflix shows or YouTube videos helps. Niall is having lunch with his family and Hannah, Lottie isn’t replying, possibly still knocked out and asleep, and Harry hasn’t shown his face since he left the previous evening. 

It’s all bullshit. Louis is done with hiding. If Matt has something to say to him, he can be his guest. Lord knows Louis has a lot to say to Matt too. Perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to blow off some steam… if it comes to it, of course, and only then.

Holding his breath, he pokes his head out of the door, checking the hallway and listening for noises. He hears none; the coast is clear. His mission starts about now. 

He sneaks down the corridor, nearly slips on the stairs, and checks the living room and kitchen. There is no sign of anyone, and as he has a look in the driveway, he sees that Matt’s car is gone. Louis suddenly remembers their fishing trip. Perhaps he took Jay instead of him. Louis tries not to read too much into that. He didn’t want to go fishing in the first place and shudders a breath as he stands in the doorway, not knowing what to do next. 

Earlier, he and Liam had their morning run and as Louis foretold himself, he nearly died. Liam ran at a bloody fast pace and Louis was more heaving and panting than doing actual running. "You have to push yourself!" Liam had yelled, a few metres distance between them, happily jogging in place, a cheery as fuck smile on his lips which Louis really would have liked to slap right off his features. From there on, Louis was a melted puddle of sweat and blood and couldn’t stand upright in the shower so he took a bath. 

Anyway, their plans for their kick-off later were cancelled due to some issues on Zayn’s side and since Liam refused to have a match in Louis’ garden, well, they had to rain check. 

He really shouldn’t depend on people. This is what you get when your only source of entertainment is another human being. 

Despite all, Louis hopes Harry will come over tonight and free him from this mess. It’s the least he can do, right? 

Standing in the doorway, he wonders if Harry is helping his parents or working on the farm or in the hostel. Honestly, Louis can’t imagine Harry as a farm boy. Farm boy. Ha, Niall was right about that one - how did he know? 

_ Anyways… _

Louis goes back upstairs, gazing around his room with his hands on his hips and a huff leaving his lips. His eyes fall on the guitar that is perched on the armchair and his expression changes from somber to amenable. He has the entire house to himself. He takes Niall’s guitar, guessing he can practice some more out in the sun instead of locking himself away — which isn’t the way he wanted to spend his summer. Lottie is in Spain,  _ Spain _ for fucks sake. Yeah, being bitter feels like shit. 

With the guitar slung over his back, he makes his way through the kitchen, leaving the sliding door ajar as he leaves the outdoor couch behind. He keeps his eyes on the green grass as he marches over the lawn, his fringe flopping with each step. He only looks up when a movement out of the corner of his eye catches his eye. He expects to see Harry, but no, it’s not Harry, not at all. He stops dead in his tracks, his legs freezing on the spot. 

_ Uhm _ . 

He blinks, stunned, rightening the strap of the guitar and shifting his weight. When what he sees doesn’t change, he rubs his knuckles over his closed eyelids so harshly that white dots appear in the black space. 

With a lump lodged in his throat and tense shoulders, he brings his gaze to the house before slowly turning back to stare straight ahead. 

She is still there. 

He must be asleep. Yeah, yeah he managed to take a full blown nap in his bed and this… this is a dream, that’s what this is. 

But no matter how many times he rubs his eyes or blinks his lashes, the little girl from his nightmares is still by the river as if she belongs there. Her brown curls have a golden shine from the sun as she bends and picks a flower, adding it to a few other marigolds in her tiny fist. 

" _ Uh… _ " Louis swallows, his heat thundering. He has the impulse to slap or pinch himself. Hard. 

The brunette girl looks at him, her green eyes intense. For a moment, they are both motionless. It is as if she, too, is surprised by his appearance. However, she is faster to recover than him and continues picking flowers like she couldn’t be bothered by him. 

Louis doesn’t know how to react, still hasn’t figured out if he is in the land of dreams or if this is real and she is actually here in broad daylight. His mind kickstarts, spitting out thoughts of her actually being real and breaking into their house at night to wake Louis up, or him having gone completely nuts and imagining a girl picking flowers in the garden while he is wide awake. If she were blonde or came close to resembling Lottie, well, that would be no less creepy but at least he would know he was hallucinating. 

His hands are clammy. 

"Eh, h-hello there?" Louis’ voice shakes. “Uh…” Great, okay, fuck. He takes a step and stumbles over nothing, his knees jelly-like. He inhales deeply but doesn’t count this time, just releasing the air through his nostrils. She doesn’t react at all, as if she didn’t hear him. Itching his arm, he checks over his shoulder again, hoping to see his parents have returned home. They haven’t. He hesitates as he glances back to her. 

_ He is having visions, this is it.  _

_ He is sleepwalking, this must be it.  _

No. 

Fuck. 

What the fuck is happening? Louis feels hot underneath the open sun. 

"Uh…excuse me," Louis scratches the back of his neck, taking a step forward. Still, he is ignored. "Who… are you?" 

She briefly glances at him before tearing another marigold out of the earth. Her little feet find hold on another rock without having to look as if she knows the rocks by heart and is confident in finding footing. 

Louis’ skin starts to tingle from head to toe. It’s the worst in his neck, his guitar being a dead weight on his shoulders. 

_ Pull yourself together,  _ he thinks, frowning at himself at his behaviour. He refuses to be scared of a six year old girl. She won’t bite his head off. This is ridiculous. 

What… in God’s name is he supposed to do, though? 

Why does this have to happen when his mum isn’t home? She’d know. She’s good with kids, amazing even. She used to be a nurse for children and they all adored her. 

_ Fuck _ . 

He shifts his weight once more, clearing his airways. "What’s your name? Where are your parents?" 

At that she sends him a gaze, maintaining eye contact for much longer than she did before. In that, Louis finds a bit of confidence. 

"I love those flowers too. They are pretty…" Louis nods, guessing this is a good start. His voice is steady. "I love yellow. It’s a nice colour, don’t you think?" 

She stares at him as if reading his mind. Louis holds his breath as she finally opens her mouth, but before words leave her lips, her gaze flickers past him, beyond his shoulders and she snaps her mouth shut. A volatile expression flashes over her features and her tiny face pales even more. He thinks he hears her gasp out loud. 

Perplexed by what could have caused such a reaction, Louis frowns and glances in the direction her eyes wandered to. A grand sigh of relief releases from his chest as he spots Harry walking towards them. There is a bounce in his step that causes his hair to flop and his green eyes are fixated on Louis, an enchanting smile curling his lips upward. 

"Was looking for you everywhere!" he calls out. 

Louis doesn’t answer, his voice still stolen from him. He directs his attention back to the girl. 

She isn’t there anymore. 

She is gone. 

What. 

His eyes roam over the river and grass before bouncing to the forest at the far end, frowning deeply when there isn’t a flicker of fabric anywhere. 

Louis blinks, taking a couple of shaky steps in the direction of the river, spinning in a slow circle. 

"What are you doing?" Harry chuckles as they face each other. He stops Louis, putting his hand on his shoulders and dipping his chin low to make eye contact. 

"There—" Louis stops, sending another look behind him, but she’s not there. She is nowhere. Poof, how fast can a little girl run? He merely looked away for a  _ second. _ "There was a girl—" Shaking Harry’s hands off him, he turns to the spot where he last saw her picking flowers. His knees wobble a bit. "Uhm… this… there was a girl picking flowers. I swear she was here. I—"  _ can’t believe this, _ he finishes in thought, turning to Harry who stares at him with high-raised brows. 

"Eh, what girl?" Harry’s eyebrows furrow. "I didn’t see a girl." 

"You must have! You walked right towards us!" Louis’ voice raises higher. “She was there!” he says, pointing at the river, “picking… flowers.” 

"Louis…" Harry sighs. He chuckles, nonplussed. "What the heck are you talking about? I swear to God there wasn’t a girl. I saw  _ you _ , you alone.  _ Nobody else. _ " 

Louis’ lips flap but no sound comes out. "No, no, Harry, no. Like… you’re crazy, how could you not have seen her?" Remembering what brought his attention to Harry in the first place makes him freeze all over again. With slow eyes he looks at Harry. "She saw you though. I’m so sure of it, that’s why I turned. I—" 

“Seriously, no idea what you’re talking about. There wasn’t a girl.” 

Louis isn’t listening, his mind too loud. 

"I saw her before," Louis says, impetuous. "In my dreams, she led me to the barn. Harry…" his voice cracks at the end, his throat tightening. He covers his face and groans."What is happening to me, huh? Am I going crazy?" He uncovers his face and cups his cheeks, peering at Harry with wide, desperate eyes.

Harry clicks his tongue and shakes his head, his shoulders sagging. "Maybe I didn’t see her because you were blocking her?" 

Oh. Oh, okay. Yeah… that makes sense, right? 

Still… where did she go, huh? 

"Hm, maybe you scared her off?" And that is why she  _ teleported _ of course, just disappearing into thin air. Of course. Of course, that sounds logical, a girl with the ability to vanish.  _ Sure _ . Fuck this. 

"Sure, I’m very scary…" Harry bares his teeth, clicking them in a faux-bite at Louis. "See, scary.  _ Grr… _ " 

It releases some of the tension in Louis’ shoulders and he chuckles breathlessly although his gut is still a knot. He puffs out air. "Big bad wolf." 

Harry laughs lowly. "Mhmm, so.” He puts his hands on his hips, his gaze inching over Louis’ features. “Girl aside, what were you going to do down here? Take a bath? Don’t you think the water is too shallow for that?" 

Louis gestures to the guitar that is bound on his back. "Was going to practice a bit more. I have to be ready for when I get back to Bristol." 

"Ah," Harry casts his gaze down. "Bristol, right." 

"I mean—" 

"Don’t, Lou…" Harry smiles tightly at him, cocking his head slightly. "I knew this was coming, so there isn’t much of a surprise to it. It’s just sad. I’m gonna be so lonely without you here." 

Louis’ heart twists in sadness for the boy in front of him. "The offer still stands," Louis says with a soft voice, though he already knows Harry won’t take him up on it. 

"I know, but you know I can’t." 

"Still wondering about that," Louis kicks the tip of his shoe in the grass. 

"C’mon, I’ll teach you a new song on the guitar." 

* * * 

They toyed around with a few chords, but Louis’ attention span ran out quickly as frustration grew that he couldn’t play one simple chord without it sounding faint due to his thumb being in the way. His mind is too preoccupied and it doesn’t take long for Harry to notice and take the guitar out of Louis’ shaky hands. 

“Let’s not get worked up. It’s just a song, Lou…” 

Therefore they ditch practice and laze on the grass by the river, the mood slowly transforming as Louis spreads his limbs and the tangled web of thoughts and emotions loosens in his belly and mind. It’s the first time today he has felt at ease.

"You know what we should do?" Louis murmurs, rolling his head towards Harry. He snorts as he observes a grass blade between Harry’s lips, making him look like a true country boy on the green land. The only thing missing is a straw hat placed over his eyes and forehead. 

Louis giggles, reaching his arm to the side and tickling his stomach. 

Harry huffs an ‘ugh’-laugh but snakes his fingers around Louis’ wrist easily, not breaking a sweat nor opening his eyes. "What?" he asks, the piece of grass falling out of his mouth. 

“We should go to the lake again. Dunno, but maybe we could go for a swim.” 

Harry props himself on his elbow, his expression more than surprised. 

Louis grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think? It’s beautiful weather.” 

"I… don’t know…" Harry hesitates, giving a reserved shrug. He fixates on a spot on Louis’ shirt. "I think we should stay in and watch a movie or summat...." he trails off, scratching his jaw. 

Louis’ eyebrows dip lower. “We do that like every day, H.” 

“I know.” 

“What’s the issue? I thought you liked going to the lake?” Louis asks, copying Harry and propping himself onto his elbow. “Or is it because of… the memories? I don’t want to pressure you or anything, I just thought it’d be fun. A change.” 

Harry gazes to the river, his body visibly tense. “It’s not… no. That’s not it.” 

“Well…” Louis falls back onto the grass, staring up at the wonderful blue sky. 

“Are you mad?” Harry hovers over him, blocking his view. “You are, aren’t you? I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not mad, of course I’m not.” Louis just wishes they’d do something outside these grounds for once. He is not mad, just a bit disappointed, that is all. “You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? It was just an idea, nothing more than that, okay? We can do something else.” 

“Thank you. I’m sorry.” 

“Harry, I swear to God…” Louis chuckles, “I told you once and I’ll say it again, you don’t have to apologise. I’m not mad at you, nor do you have to thank me for breathing, okay? It’s fine. We can find something we both enjoy doing.” 

“I have an idea. We could have a dance party.” 

Louis bobs his head. “A dance party?” he repeats slowly. 

Harry grins. 

“But only if we play ABBA nonstop.” 

“Deal.” 

* * * 

If Louis had thought the first time he joined Liam on a run was bad, that was nothing in comparison to this. His entire body, every inch of it, aches and burns as he jogs after the boy who is sprinting in front of him, apparently having the best time of his life. 

_ How? _ Louis speculates,  _ just how _ can a human being be so happy about going for a run? No, this isn’t a simple run, this is a sprint, a race, a marathon straight through hell. The sun is grilling his back. He  _ hates  _ it. Hates  _ everything _ . 

"Fuck…" Louis gasps through gritted teeth, his lungs clenching violently. "Liam, stop… wait up, Jesus. Please, I’m  _ begging _ ..." 

Liam checks over his shoulder and does a double-take as he notes how much distance is already between them. He has the nerve to grin loosely at Louis’ misery, jogging in place as Louis wheezes and presses his hands on both of his flanks, which sting with agony. His heart rate is up on the horizon as another break out of heat dribbles over him. He feels like bacon in a hot, oily pan, drenched in a coat of sweat. It brings him back to his first day, when he had carried those rock heavy boxes from the car to the house and thought his last waking minute had come; today he feels the same desire to just fall over and die, just to make it stop.

"Are you training for a marathon or summat?" Louis asks, walking slowly towards the man who wants to see him dead by the end of his torture session. 

"Nope, I just enjoy running. Sometimes I go twice a day." 

"Why? Why would you do that?" Louis whines, coming to a stand and throwing his head back miserably. "No fucking  _ wonder _ Zayn hates running. I might now too. Last time it wasn’t  _ that _ hard.” 

“Well, since it was your first time I thought I would go easy on you,” Liam shrugs, still fucking bouncing in place. 

Louis bites his tongue to hold back a dirty remark. 

“Great, just fantastic. I want out, thanks,” Louis deadpans, wiping drops of sweat off his forehead. Hell, even his elbows are damp. It’s disgusting. It’s official, Liam is not human; he is a beast. 

"Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad. Just keep up," With that, Liam salutes him and sprints away, calling over his shoulder, "Push yourself. Keep pushing.  _ Push. Push. Push! _ " 

Louis  _ hates _ Liam. 

He starts running after him, if only to be done with this trip to hell faster. 

* * * 

As Zayn’s house comes into sight, Louis’ legs decide that it’s finally over and cave in. Drained of life, he falls forward onto the ground and stays there. He endures a mouthful of spit and earth because even that is so much better than moving another inch for the rest of his entire life. He is done —  _ done _ . 

When it gets too suffocating with his nose buried in the ground, he gathers every last bit of energy left in his weak bones and pushes himself onto his back. His chest falls and rises as he stares vacantly into the green tree crowns, a drop of sweat rolling from his hairline to his neck. He pulls a grimace. 

"You did well," Liam praises, coming to stand next to Louis’ face. He smiles down at him like a proud dad. If Louis had any strength inside of him, he would consider murder. "In time it’ll become easier. Maybe in a week, you will be able to run the entire route without pretending to stumble only to take a break." 

"I didn’t let myself fall on  _ purpose— _ " Louis starts to protest but as Liam sends him a  _ 'uh-huh _ ' kind of look he shuts up and closes his eyes. "Fine," he mutters, waving a flippant hand around, "you got me there." 

"Let’s have a glass of water inside," Liam offers him his hand to pull him onto his feet and together they walk to Zayn’s dark little witch house. 

"Are you sure it’s okay?" Louis asks. He nervously takes it in, from the pointed roof to the dark window frames to the wild growing plants and trees that set it in even more shadows than it already is. 

"Don’t tell me you’re scared of this house when you live in a haunted one." 

"Perhaps they confused the houses?" Louis cocks his head sideways. "This looks like it’s straight out of a horror movie. Look at it — all surrounded by forest, no proper street leading to it. Hansel and Gretel were probably held hostage in this house." 

Liam huffs, unlocking the door. “They weren’t. It’s cozy inside, don’t worry.” 

Inside, it’s cool and the same as it looks on the outside: sinister and wonky. Therefore, Liam lied. Louis is not surprised. He expects a masked man to jump out from behind a door with a knife and, well, although Louis has seen the iconic  _ Halloween _ a few times and adores it, that doesn’t mean he wants to be part of it in real life. However, as the door falls into its lock and he is still alive and nobody has attacked him so far, his shoulders slump and he relaxes with a calming inhale. 

Just like in Jay’s house, in the foyer there are stairs that lead to the second level and doors that lead to three different rooms. The blinds are set low in a few rooms they pass and the floorboards creak as they walk to the kitchen.

Louis stops in the doorway, taking it in: dried flowers are hanging from strings by each window, covering the majority of the glass as they let their dead heads hang sadly. Pots and pans dangle over a small square cooking island in the middle of the black tiled kitchen. The smell of burnt sage fills the stuffy air. Louis itches his nose. 

It’s the most interesting house he has ever been in and he has only had a brief look around so far. The only thing missing would be a black cat rubbing its head on his shins. 

"Witchy much, huh?" Louis comments, leaning sideways against the doorframe. 

Liam shrugs. "Zayn is—" 

"Right here," comes a voice from behind Louis and he startles, jumping with his heart pounding. 

Zayn smiles at Louis tightly. "Nice to see you again." 

"Your boyfriend nearly killed me," Louis blurts, a hand still pressed over his sternum.

"Sure. I’m proud of you, Li," Zayn says, directed at Liam. He passes Louis, leaning next to his boyfriend at the counter. "I take the run didn’t go that well? Please tell me you’ve changed your mind and now hate running too." 

"I’m starting to—" 

"Like it," Liam chimes in, ecstatic. 

Louis wonders how the hell he can have so much energy left to smile so wide and talk in such a high spirited voice… then again, he’s doing it for a living, right? Louis could never. 

"He loves it, he’s just being coy. Louis needs a bit of practice, but he’s holding up better than you ever have, Zee." 

“Ha,” Zayn grins at Louis sharply. “Liam, next you should take Louis with you to the gym, eh?” 

As Liam’s expression brightens at the idea, like a puppy getting a real yummy treat, Louis’ expression darkens and his shoulders sag. That fucker...

“Oh that’s brilliant, Zee. What do you think Louis? Wanna get into weight lifting? I can show you around, no worries. I have a few sessions already booked but I could squeeze you in on…” he bobs his head, rubbing his chin as his eyes roll to the ceiling in thought, “next Saturday afternoon? That should work. Perfect!” He claps his hands. 

Zayn sends Louis a smug look. 

Louis’ eyebrow twitches. “As much as I love to, Liam, seriously, I don’t think—” 

“Nonsense,” Liam cuts in, cheery as fuck, “it will be fun!”

“Yeah no, no,” Louis shakes his head wildly, “no, I have plans, like, serious plans that just can’t be changed. It’s just… I… I’m meeting with Harry. Yeah, I had serious planned plans with Harry.” 

Liam waves a hand, grin still in place. “No trouble at all, he can join us. The merrier, the better, right? We can get a proper team going.” 

Zayn cracks up, cackling at Louis’ aghast, distressed face. 

Again:  _ Fucker _ . 

“The merrier, the better, eh?” He raises his eyebrows, fixing Zayn on the spot, who sobers slowly and narrows his eyes at Louis as if to say  _ ‘don’t you dare’. _ Louis smirks, “I will see what I can do, but only if Zayn tags along.” 

Liam’s head snaps to his boyfriend, an extraordinarily hopeful expression on his face. “Zayn? Please, c’mon.” 

Louis and Zayn stare at one another. Louis winks. 

“Not happening, babe,” Zayn kisses Liam’s cheek, as if to let him down easier. “Sorry, but you know where I stand with sports. I just can’t do it. My body refuses any sort of physical activity.” 

Liam pouts. 

“See, it doesn’t work,” Louis sighs in faux disappointment, tsking his tongue. 

“Another time maybe?” 

Fuck, Louis can’t say no again to those brown puppy eyes. He feels himself caving in. “Maybe. I mean this run was already… a lot to take in. You’re seriously gonna destroy me in a gym with machines and people watching. I mean… it’s just…” he ends lamely, ruffling his damp hair. 

“I understand. We’ll stick to running and then see where to go from there.” Liam’s shoulders slump, but honestly Louis doesn’t feel any guilt. Going to the gym is just not his cuppa tea. He is proud of himself for even going on a regular jog these days. It’s the biggest accomplishment of his athletic career since he quit football.

As nobody has said anything for a while, Louis takes his chances. 

"Well, lads I guess I’ll be going then…" he says, dreaming of a cold, cold shower and a fresh set of clothes. “It was a pleasure. Truly.” 

"You can stay if you’d like? Zayn baked some biscuits." 

"It’s my mum’s recipe," Zayn mumbles, smiling bashfully.

"Right. They are heaven, I swear." 

His stomach growls. Biscuits sound fucking amazing. Better than a shower, pfsh… 

"Alright," Louis smiles. "I deserve a biscuit after what you put me through the last couple of mornings." 

* * * 

Matt is sitting in the living room with Jay when Louis returns from the lads’ place. The loud, gabbling noises give him a good hint that they are watching a movie on the telly, which means they won’t notice he is home. Still, to avoid any sort of contact, he closes the door very, very tenderly behind him. 

He sneaks up the stairs, but somehow he wasn’t quiet enough because his mother calls his name. However, he isn’t in the mood to talk nor join them and endure an hour of icy awkward silence. Louis is more than tired and in need of bloody a shower. Actually he is well past that, the sweat from his run having dried, building a second coat on his skin. It’s delicious, really. 

He has no idea how long he can shun Matt since they are living under the same roof, but he sure as hell can try. A few more weeks and he will be sitting behind the wheel on his way back to Niall and his old life. Somehow, that isn’t a comforting thought. His heart tugs with the question,  _ 'what about Harry?'  _ and just like Louis has been ignoring his fear of talking to Matt, he ignores his heart as well and strips down in the bathroom. He turns on the tap and waits for the water to get warm and steamy. 

There is still an odd feeling, unruly in his gut, when he steps into this bathroom. He glances up to the light bulb. It flickers a few times but doesn’t shut off, throwing an orange shade in the tiled windowless room. It doesn’t make it any less creepy. 

When the water is hot, he steps underneath the stream, careful so water doesn’t splash in his face. He doesn’t want his eyes to be blinded by the spray, just in case danger is around the corner and he has to fight. He wouldn’t get far if he decided to run, his legs weak and shaky from exercising all day, an afterburn prickling on his calves and thighs. At least, however, he won the football match which Zayn unwillingly joined. Liam and Zayn had formed a team and yet Louis was a single man champ, beating both 2:1 easily. Liam might be good at running and lifting heavy things, but Louis has faster reflexes. Well, it didn’t stop Liam from trying to beat Louis. They were head on head, at some point playing dirty and eating grass here and there, tugging on one another's shirts and holding the other back. At this point, Zayn merely stood around motionless and kicked the ball only when it happened to pass him, not wanting to get involved in the dirty play. It was fun. 

Louis shampoos his hair lazily, his arms trembling as he massages it into his roots. He takes his sweet time rinsing it and applying body wash over his skin. The light flickers. His hands stop and he sticks his head out from behind the shower curtain, frowning at the bare lightbulb. It gives a meager flicker just then. 

"Don’t you dare…" he mutters, hurrying up with washing his body. Although he had wanted to shave his jawline, where stubble has been growing for the past few days, he leaves that for another day.

The light turns off and on as he rubs his body dry, urging him on even more. 

He is just wrapping a towel around his hips when the light bulb gives a soft crackle and shuts off completely, leaving him in an ominous darkness. He clicks his teeth and grinds them on the flesh of his inner cheek as he fumbles for the door handle, slapping the wall a few times by mistake. He takes a calming breath as dread looms over his bones. 

His fingers find it and he yanks at it, but the door stays shut. Again, he shakes it up and down and pulls it, but it doesn’t budge a bit. 

"What…" he whispers as a lump of thick fear grows in his throat and he blinks blindly into nothingness. "Fuck…" His hair is still dripping wet, little drops running down his neck, wetting his towel. 

Louis lets go of the door handle and carefully takes it in both hands, pushing it down as far as possible and pulling softly. When that doesn't work, he rips on it harshly. The door stays closed, the light bulb stays shut off, and panic engulfs him. His heart skyrockets. 

"Mum!" he calls, leaning his cheek weakly against the door. "Mum!" he knocks, knocks, and knocks until his knuckles hurt, but apparently they are still watching a movie which is drowning out his calls. 

Fuck, this isn’t happening. 

He swallows and closes his eyes, his breathing picking up. He gulps down air and more air, more air than his lungs are capable of containing. They shudder and Louis for a moment fears he will pass out as his mind floats somewhere above his body, dizzy and spinning. A layer of icy numbness settles over him. 

Louis knocks again, louder, harsher, more panicked. "Mum! Matt?" 

A thought so gruesome winds its way into his mind that he stops, exhaling the air he wanted to use to call out again. A shiver runs down his spine. 

They didn’t… like lock him in here, right? They couldn’t have, right? Why would they? 

Revenge, an act of hatred, homophobia on Matt’s part. His mother changing her mind, hating him now, too. A sick prank. Wanting to teach him a lesson. As more possibilities of the worst kind come rattling in, Louis shakes himself out of his frozen state, his entire body vibrating now. 

_ “Nothing will happen,”  _ he hears Harry say in his mind. 

_ “Everything could happen,”  _ he hears himself reply. 

Louis had known then, but was lulled into Harry’s words, his promise that nothing bad would come out of it. And now look where it got him, locked in a dingy, hot, sauna-ish bathroom. 

Shit. 

He should have just talked to them. They could have worked through it… and nothing would have happened. Nothing like this anyway. Fuck. If it would have come to it, Louis would have packed his shit and left. 

"Mum!" he yells, the sound so high, so panicked, so fearful. He might collapse. He might pass out right here and now. His tongue swells in his mouth, dry like his throat. Hot tears spring in his eyes as sweat breaks out of his pores. His hair is still dripping wet, mixing with the salty, sticky texture. The room is still steamy from his shower. There isn’t enough air. He is going to die. They are going to let him die. "Mum! Mum! Please! Mum!" 

This is his end, dying naked in the bathroom, alone and lonely. 

He stops calling out, he stops knocking, he stops breathing altogether. His knees give in and he falls onto the ground with a dull sound. He turns, leaning his back against the door and taking his head in between his hands.

They don’t want him here anymore. They want him gone, and this is their way of saying it. 

_ Don’t bullshit yourself. This is your mum you’re talking about. _

_ But Matt —  _

_ Matt… _

_ What if?  _

_ Even breaths, even breaths.  _

He hadn’t even noticed that he had started hyperventilating, his exhales coming in huge puffs, warming his naked thighs. 

Louis lifts his leg as far as possible in his position and lets his heel bang against the tiled floor. He does this again and repeats it until pain shoots from his foot upward to his calf. 

He holds still as there are footsteps in the hallway and he turns, banging his fists against the door. "Mum!" he calls, his voice hoarse. He has started crying, which he also didn’t notice until now. His chest heaves with calls and breaths, his mind spinning. "Mum!" 

"L-Louis?" It comes from the other side of the door and his heart sighs in relief. Fucking hell. "Louis, are you… in there?" 

"I’m here. P-please let me out." 

The door handle gets pushed down, but the door stays closed. 

"The door won’t open." 

Louis bites his tongue. _ Don’t snap, don’t snap... _

"Did you lock it from the inside?" 

"No…" Louis mutters, getting on shaky legs. He turns, blind, to try to find the key — it’s not there. "There isn’t a key in the lock. I didn’t lock it." Again panic overcomes him, his frame wracked with uncontrolled shaking. "Please get me out of here…" he whimpers. 

"I’m on it, wait…" Jay says and after a second, he hears her footsteps going back down the hall. 

Louis can’t handle the darkness again. At all. Not now. Never. Darkness plus small rooms are a no-go. It brings him back into the barn. The horror of fear he witnessed there. The girl crying. Fuck. Stop. Rattling breathing all around him, the smell of death everywhere. The fear, the hair-raising fear… oh god. Fuck. He can’t. He can’t. Breathe… breathe… It was a fucking nightmare, nothing more, right? Right?

Fuck he can’t breathe. This isn’t working. He is  _ not _ claustrophobic, but… this feels pretty close to it. This terror makes his bones buzz and his mind go in circles. He stumbles back until his bum bumps into the washbasin. He grips it for support and lets his head hang low, gritting his teeth as a sob rips through his throat and tears start pooling behind his closed eyes. 

_ One, two, three… four, five, six… seven, eight, nine… everything will be fine. One to three… four, five, six… seven, eight nine… everything will be fine… _

He repeats it like a mantra in his head, holding his inhale in his lungs before releasing it slowly through his agape mouth. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

In, out. 

Slowly, his breathing calms and he relaxes his shoulders, if only a bit. 

_ Everything will be fine.  _

Nobody hates him. 

He is safe. 

Jay will get him out of here. 

This isn’t Matt’s first sign of abuse. 

He will make it out alive. 

There is nobody with him in the bathroom. 

He isn’t in the barn.

He isn’t dreaming. This is real, and nobody will hurt him. 

_ One, two, three… four, five, six… seven, eight, nine… everything will be fine. One, two, three… four, five, six —  _

His ears pick up returning footsteps, this time two pairs. They halt in front of the door. 

"Louis, don’t worry. We’ll get you out," Matt grunts through the wood.

"Hurry, please…” Louis whimpers, tears now wetting his skin. He sniffs, holding onto the sink in a death-grip. 

"Stay away from the door. Keep your distance." 

"O-okay." 

There is some rustling, then Matt rams something into the side of the door. Louis flinches at the loud noise, hissing through his clenched teeth. 

"Jay, hold down the door handle and push for me, will ya?" 

The handle is pulled down as there are several loud noises and clicks, as if Matt is pressing an object above the lock several times and wiggling it. 

" _ Push _ ." 

"I am…" 

Louis bites his lips, sucking them into his mouth. 

Click, click, click, —  _ bang _ . 

The door springs open. A beam of light has never reflected hope so much as right now. In that ray of light are two angels, eyeing Louis with wide, worried eyes. Matt is crouched on the ground, and Jay is standing. 

"Oh darling," Jay sighs, "what have you done?" 

Relief is quickly replaced by hot shame that pools in his gut. 

He rightens himself, adjusting his towel around his hips and shifting his weight. "Nothing," he murmurs. His neck heats, and he casts his eyes down for a second. "Thank you," he says, glancing from Matt to Jay and back. "Thanks." He rubs below his runny nose, sniffing once more. 

"Why are you in the dark?" Matt grunts, wiping sweat off his forehead and standing up from his position on his knees. 

"The light bulb broke." 

"Again?" Matt hums, clicking the switch. The light stays out, but as he tries again, the light flickers on without further trouble. Matt clears his throat. 

Louis fish mouths at it, his mind wiped blank. This is a sick, sick joke...

Matt shakes his head and packs his screwdriver back in his toolbox. "I’ll just exchange it," he murmurs. 

"O-okay, thanks." 

Matt nods, and after that stalks down the corridor, shoulders hunched. 

Jay and Louis make eye contact. He wipes pathetic tears off his cheeks. "You worry me so much lately," she whispers. "First the sleepwalking, then this…" She, too, shakes her head. 

"I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened," he whispers, the lump in his throat growing, tightening his skin around his neck. He picks at the skin there, twisting it between his fingertips. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I…" 

"I know you didn’t, darling. But I’m… wondering about things." 

"Like what?" His eyebrows pull together, and his heart beats behind his forehead. It’s all a bit too much, too overwhelming. 

She smiles at him, weary. "Go and get dressed. I’ll start on dinner." With that she leaves him and the bathroom behind. 

* * *

Did his mother just imply that he is insane? As in mentally unstable? Louis has been wondering about it ever since she hinted at it in the bathroom. He didn’t join them for supper, guessing they’d be glad not to see him for a while. His mother didn’t even knock on his door to remind him again that supper will be ready shortly, and neither called out for him though the smell of an Italian dish is hanging in the air. It makes his mouth water and his stomach growl because after all, he burned off enough energy for a week straight. And yet, he can’t bring himself to get off the bed.

He wishes Harry were with him, next to him, telling him an awful joke that he would laugh at anyway, just glad to have something or someone to take his mind off of things. He rolls onto his side and blinks up at the guitar which is leaning against the armchair. 

He gets up with sore muscles, takes the guitar and plops onto the cushion of the vintage armchair. It groans as he rightens himself and places the guitar carefully on his thigh, the neck held in the crook of his hand. 

First he starts strumming random chords, starting the Nirvana song that Harry taught him a while ago. He murmurs the words under his breath, feeling somewhat comforted as if Harry himself is present and crooning alongside with him. 

After that, he plays around with the chords until he finds something new, different, something more him and less Kurt Cobain. He frowns and wets his lips. He likes the tune. It’s soft, a warm feeling. It makes him think of summer. Of Harry.

Harry. 

His eyelashes flutter. He doesn’t want to think too much about why Harry creeps into every single one of his thoughts. Instead, he concentrates on channeling the warm feeling inside his chest. He thinks about where he and Harry stand, how Harry tells him jokes, how beautiful his smile is, and the way he holds the guitar, like it’s something more precious than a simple instrument. The way he sits, stands, twists his body — how tall he is, how lanky, soft, and magnificent. The way the colour of his hair changes when they are outside or indoors, the way his eyes light up when they lock gazes, the way he’d poke Louis’ cheek just because…. 

Louis opens and shuts his mouth, an inhale already trapped in his belly to sing the next verse. Something forms, something creates the longer he thinks about…

Where they are going… 

" _ I like the way this is going, _ " he murmurs, softly, continuing strumming the same chords over and over. He pauses, inhales a bit more of a confident air and carries on. " _ I like the way this is going _ ," he sings, the sound purring in his chest. He bobs his head, thinking about Harry’s smile, his little bunny teeth, and continues: " _ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile." _

He sings these lines over and over again. " _ I like the way this is going _ ," because he does, this feels right, this feels good. It allows him to forget everything for a moment, making him feel like he is bathing in a puddle of goo, gone for this boy. His voice gets stronger, the words slipping more easily past his lips. " _ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile… I like your toothy smile… I like how this is going… I like how… I like, oh, I like— _ " Louis drums his thumb against the wood of the guitar and closes his eyes, seeing the words visibly in his mind, catching them only to spit them out. " _ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile. Whichever way the wind is blowing… I like the way this is going _ ." 

Yes… Louis allows himself a little smile, repeating the new verse over and over until it feels familiar and comes without a shudder from his heart. " _ I like the colour… of… _ " he breathes through his nose, his fingers faltering in their rhyme, " _ your eyes… _ " he whispers and cringes. " _ I like the colour of your eyes. _ " It might be true, but it feels wrong. He stops playing and bites his lip. Okay, again. He starts over, going from the beginning, before adding, " _ I like the colour of your hair, I think… I think… I think, _ " he wets his lips, " _ we… I think we make a… handsome pair. _ " He cringes, it sounds… sappy at best, but it fits them. Harry being tied so close to his emotions, crying so easily, wearing his heart on his sleeve, he definitely seems like a romantic type of person. " _ I think we make a handsome pair _ ," he repeats softly, then again, this time in his low singing voice. His voice is getting worn out, hoarse and scratchy. 

He stops playing and ruffles his hair, leaning the guitar against the bed and standing, stretching, and yawning. His stomach growls and that… that is an unpleasant reminder of what has happened today. He wishes he hadn’t stopped practicing. 

Louis shuffles over to the desk and gets a blank piece of paper out and scribbles down the lyrics, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. 

_ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile. Whichever way the wind is blowing, I like the way this is going. I like the colour of your hair, I think we make a handsome pair.  _

Harry is so going to hate this. He grins. There is no heartbreak in it, no sorrow, no pain. All things Harry considers poetic. But hopefully he is going to like it nonetheless. It’s special. Personal. 

If this turns into anything good, it will be Louis’ goodbye gift to Harry. His heart clenches. Maybe it’s not about heartbreak, but it sure feels close to it. 

* * * 

When Harry isn’t around, Louis works on his song. His heart throbs heavily as he strums the easy chords, his thumb drumming in time to it. The song has grown over the past few days from an idea on paper to a picture in his head to a melody that won’t let him sleep at night. But that is fine because as long as he is singing it, murmuring it under his breath, all of the nightmares and scary girls stay away. Harry is present within him, slipping in and out of his mind, materialising in the verses. Each word sung brings them closer. To Louis, when he is singing or playing the guitar — which he has gotten better at, Niall will be pleased — feels like Harry is with him, breathing down his neck, watching over his shoulder. The feeling is bizarre and yet Louis can’t help but check, nearly expecting to see Harry’s grin. But he isn’t there, of course not. Louis should know that. After all, he wouldn’t play the song around him because it is meant to be a surprise. 

And when Harry is around, they practice and sing together. That, too, is now easier, both finding their flow in each other, their voices harmonising. Since Matt and Jay are more often gone than present, they take the spot by the river hostage, making it their place to joke around, sing, and play guitar. They hand the guitar back and forth and roll around, enjoying the sun warming their skin. It allows Louis to forget everything for a while. His mother, the way she has been avoiding his eyes; his stepfather, who won’t call him  _ ‘son’ _ any longer, which is negative and positive at the same time; the little girl that still haunts his nightmares when he stops singing and doesn’t brace himself for what is to come. Yet he doesn’t seem to sleepwalk anymore. Now, he goes to bed and awakes in his mattress. He is relieved about that too. Harry swings by around lunch time and still hasn’t stopped apologising about the sick joke he pulled when he came down the stairs that one morning and set the whole thing with his parents off. 

It’s okay though, because at the end Louis would have to come out either way. He can stay mad at Harry, sure, but he isn’t the one at fault. It’s Matt who can’t accept Louis apparently. 

Matt and Jay are avoiding him, sure, but Louis is avoiding them too. 

He only goes downstairs for food when they are gone or already tucked into bed, waiting in his room until the footsteps fade and it’s safe to use the toilet. He wants to speak out, yet always stops himself at the last second and closes the door when his mother is nearby. She doesn’t knock, ask, or do anything to let him know he is wrong about them and that is fine. They need time and Louis’ time will be up soon. He will be going back to Bristol, which is both relieving and breaking his heart at the same time.

Niall is hyped that summer will end soon, but he seems to be the only one. Perrie is whining in all her messages to Louis, and Lottie, who is visiting her fiancés’ family for the rest of the break, is sad as well that the start of university is right around the corner.

Harry is quiet sometimes. Louis feels his eyes on him, but doesn’t ask what is bothering him because the air between them lets him know well enough. He is feeling the same. They don’t need to poke more into it; it’d only make it more real and painful. 

Not to mention the shared kisses - loads of kisses - between them. Louis can’t get enough of Harry’s lips and Harry, too, seems starved, pecking Louis’ mouth randomly in passing, while they are singing, relaxing by the water, or watching Netflix. Harry  _ loves _ Netflix. When they aren’t singing or playing around, that is what they have been up to: watching a stream of endless movies, TV shows and documentaries. Harry adores  _ Love, Actually  _ and Louis adores Harry. 

It’s wonderful although they haven’t cut into the topic of sex again. Louis is too scared to bring it up or make a move, leaving the decision to Harry alone because he doesn’t want to spook him like the previous time. He wants to ask, really, what all that was about, but every time he starts with, " _ Harry— _ " and then, when his boy looks his way, he just can’t bring himself to finish.

So, Harry is the one pulling the strings and Louis just goes along with it. Kissing is fine, cuddling is great. If things get too heated when they are laying in bed, sometimes even going as far as crawling on top of each other, Louis backs off when Harry’s breathing gets a bit too quick or his eyes a bit too wide. It’s okay, honestly. Louis wants to have sex, of course, but he is fine with this too. They don’t have to rush things. The thought that perhaps Harry is asexual has crossed his mind a few times but he doesn’t dare to bring that up or google what it actually means. He doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries and Harry knows himself better than any Google website possibly could. He doesn’t want to label someone who hasn’t said it yet himself. Anyway. They are good, more than good, and Louis misses Harry the moment the boy leaves with a last kiss and another easy grin which brings out those dimples Louis worships to death. 

But summer isn’t all  _ HarryAndLouis _ . 

Liam and Louis go on runs together still, though thankfully not every day. Louis wouldn’t survive that. 

When they are done, they chill in Zayn’s witchy living room. It’s painted in a dark green and every possible surface is plastered with flowers and plants. Not only are the dried flowers hanging in the kitchen like it’s normal, but it’s a theme throughout the house somehow. By every window there is a string hung up with dried flowers, which is something Louis has never seen before. 

Out in the garden, surrounded and shadowed by trees, he has a little herb garden by a pond. Louis hasn’t seen all of the house, and he doesn’t dare to ask for a tour. As far as he can tell, it’d only get darker, moodier, and spookier if he were to walk up the heavy, cherrywood stairs. Louis calls it a witch house, and neither of the boys disagrees.

His time there is always lovely, all weird witchy shit aside. Zayn has warmed up to him even without alcohol and sometimes he shares his stack of weed with Louis. While Liam is at the gym, they get high, chilling either outside or in the living room. Sometimes Zayn goes upstairs and doesn’t join Louis for a while. He’d ask about it, really, if it weren’t for that shut down expression on Zayn’s face. Then again, Louis is high as the sky at those times and way too lazy to use his mouth for more than a drink or another drag. They don’t talk a lot and, oddly enough, Louis’ insides don’t prickle with the urge to fill the silences between them. It’s just as good to spread all of his limbs over the sofa and let Zayn pet his cheek and hair as if he were a cat. It works for them just fine and perhaps Louis won’t only miss Harry, but Zayn and Liam as well. 

When he pulled his car into the driveway for the first time, dread was hanging in his bones because Niall wasn’t with him and neither was Lottie. They are the two people who he loves most in this world and who he thought could save his summer. Never would he have guessed he would find people in this town he could fall in love with and miss when he finally packs his things and returns home - well, besides his mum. He misses her, always. 

Time is passing too fast. Louis wants to catch it, pull at it and keep it the way it is now. Harry and Louis; Louis, Liam, and Zayn.

Sadly, Harry doesn’t want to come along to their hangouts, saying he just can’t with people that well. Louis always replies,  _ 'you’re fine with me, though, they are nice, you wouldn’t have to worry,’ _ but Harry always suddenly has something to take care of. They are both aware it’s all  _ excuses _ , but Louis doesn’t call him out on it, just nods. The moment Louis arrives home, Harry joins him in bed an hour later, and some days Harry even waits for him in the driveway, smoking, looking sinfully hot dressed in all black. 

Zayn and Liam keep asking about Harry, too, because Louis always promises them to bring him around and then shows up alone. Whilst Liam always pouts dolefully, Zayn’s gaze doesn’t leave him for a while after that, deep brown eyes very much in thought. He looks right through Louis and sees… what exactly? Does he think Louis is lying? Does he think Louis made Harry up or summat? He definitely is past that age where you pretend you have a boyfriend that merely exists in your head. The part of their meeting is a bit funky because Zayn looks as if he is on to something or knows more than Louis himself, yet Louis doesn’t know what. After all, he does want to bring Harry, but he can’t force him, dragging him through the woods — so what is he supposed to do? When he asks Zayn what he is thinking, the lad shrugs and murmurs a soft  _ ’s’just weird, s’all.’ _ And that’s that. 

They  _ all _ are weird. Zayn has his witchy things and mind-blowing belief system. Liam, well, he is probably the only normal one, all odd hints aside. For example, when Louis leaves, Liam calls after him to beware of the ghosts, and Louis, always, always, always calls back his usual, ' _ don’t worry I’ll befriend them _ '. And Harry, of course, Louis is still wondering about him. He wonders about his hostel and the farm he hasn’t otherwise heard of. Google isn’t a huge help, especially because he always forgets to ask Harry for his last name. And of course there is himself. Being locked in the bathroom in the dark took a toll on him and although Matt has changed the light bulb, he still leaves the door ajar, hoping nobody will pass by. Plus there are his nightmares, which imprint dark circles under his eyes. But at least Harry kisses them and maybe that makes it all better. Everyone he has met so far is bizarre and different, and Louis likes that. He knows Niall would love it, too, and Lottie would probably have a good laugh. 

However, since Louis has been so busy with his new friends, he hasn’t had time to look up the house and what happened here on the internet. It was mostly pushed to the far back of his mind because there were more important things at hand, like writing music, Harry, Harry, Harry, running, Harry, sneaking downstairs for food, Harry, Netflix, Harry, Liam and Zayn, Harry… did he mention Harry already? He’s a very important part of his life now. 

Anyway, currently he is sitting alone in his room. His guitar is sleeping on the bed, writer's block isn’t letting him get any further with his song for Harry, and after watching a few videos on YouTube to pass the time until Harry arrives, he is bored out of his mind.

If not now, when? He wonders this before giving in to the nagging in his gut, pulling up Google, and typing in, ' _ family shooting _ ' along with the name of the town. Then, he waits. 

Google is being extra slow, showing him news of some farmer up north that had to put down ten of his animals due to an unknown sickness. Also, there was a car crash around here where a family of four died and Louis' heart heaves at that. The kids were only ten and twelve and the parents look like a lovely couple based on what he has seen in their smiling family pictures. 

He skims through some more news, getting distracted by information about the town: when it was discovered, when the first houses were built, who the town mayors were, and whatnot. They are planning a hospital nowadays — Louis cringes at the memory of having to visit the hospital in the next closest city. It wasn’t that much of a drive, but then again he wasn’t seriously injured. This all takes up some time and as he tries again to look for the real shooting that went down here, he blinks at the white page that spits out some links. 

Just as his finger hovers over the touchpad, ready to click on the first webpage, there is a knock on the door and he holds his breath, frowning in irritation. 

It’s the first time his mother has come to him. He has no idea what to say to her. He doesn’t even know what the problem is. Is it him? Is it Matt? Is it both? They were never on not-talking terms, so this is new territory. Yet all of his panic vanishes into thin air with a shuddery exhale when the door finally opens and Harry smiles at him. 

"Oh," Louis returns the smile weakly. 

Harry comes over, eyeing him in concern. "You aren’t too happy to see me. What’s up?" 

Louis ruffles his hair. "Thought you were my mum." 

"You guys still aren’t talking?" 

"No…" Louis bites his lower lip, his gaze fixed on the page without really seeing it. 

"I’m sorry," Harry murmurs. Rounding the bed and crawling next to Louis on the mattress, he kisses Louis’ exposed neck. "Would I have known… I…" he frowns to himself, fiddling with his fingers near Louis’ hip. "Well, I didn’t think it’d turn out this bad. I wasn’t thinking at all, actually." 

"I know you didn’t mean any harm, but like…" _ I told you. _ Louis doesn’t have to say it, they both are aware of that fact. 

Harry sighs. His eyes focus on the screen. His eyebrows lift. "Uh, what… what are you doing?" 

Louis blinks, having nearly forgotten why he opened Google in the first place. His eyes scan the page showing a list of links and websites. "I wanted to check out this house. See what I can find." 

Harry snorts. "Why? Thought you hated death and whatnot." 

"Well, I’d like to know though," Louis shrugs, clicking on the first link.

The page is slow to load. The WiFi might be working, but living in the middle of nowhere has some negative sides to it like having to pause and reload Netflix movies just when it gets good, or music having some pauses in between lines. It’s annoying. Louis is so used to having the best WiFi connection, and he gets irritated when shit like this happens. The little loading sign is still on the screen and the loading bar is not even half full, the blue line creeping along slowly. Louis huffs through his nose. 

"So much for that," Harry grins at him. "Let’s do something, c’mon." 

"No I—" 

"Louis," Harry whines, nuzzling the tip of his nose in the crook of Louis’ neck. It tickles, and Louis giggles as Harry’s curls brush his cheek. "I wanna do something  _ fun _ ." 

"Like what?" Louis asks, burying his fingers in Harry’s hair. It’s always so unbelievably soft. He wonders what shampoo he uses. 

"We could go to the pub tonight?" Harry suggests, resurfacing from his hiding spot and sitting back, adjusting his legs to cross them beneath his bum. 

"You?" Louis asks, lifting his brows so high it stings. "You wanna go out? Where is Harry and what have you done with him?" 

Harry laughs, poking Louis’ leg. "Nothing, I just wanna go out, have a drink. We’re always in this house, so… I thought it’d be nice." 

"It’s Tuesday." 

Harry frowns deeply. "And? Who cares? Tuesday is as good as a Friday," he shrugs, turning the ring on his index finger. Harry grinds his teeth so hard that the sharp bone of his jawline juts out. 

Louis considers him for a moment. "Alright, why not?" he shrugs, sending his laptop screen another look — it’s still loading — and then clicking out of the tab before closing the laptop altogether. 

"Great," Harry brightens, "thanks." 

"You don’t have to—" 

Harry shuts him up with a kiss. 

* * * 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, phew, I have to admit I struggled quite a bit with chapter 7, I was very nervous to post it and I still am. But overall I hope you still could enjoy it? If you liked it, kudos and comments are always, always welcome. Soon things will pick up even more so (finally, eep) and things will be revealed (finally).
> 
> I hope everyone has a great Christmas Day and a nice week in general! 
> 
> lots of love xxx


	8. CHAPTER EIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Harry go to the pub. They run into a few friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> I hope 2020 treats you guys well :) 
> 
> This chapter is a mixture of everything and honestly I had the most fun writing it! 17k. Thank you guys for all kudos and love this fic has gotten so far, it makes me really the happiest. I hope you enjoy chapter 8! 
> 
> Happpppy reading xxx

*** * * **

It’s Tuesday and on the walk to the pub, Louis feared that it would be closed completely. It’s not, thankfully. Although, as expected, it is nearly empty. Luckily, that doesn’t stop a smile from spreading on Harry’s face and Louis guesses it fits the boy just fine that there aren’t many people around, remembering the last time they were here. 

Louis still lets his gaze travel over the customers, just in case, watching out for girly girls in hippie dresses and men with long hair and untidy beards. He would prefer not to stumble into a snarky fight after returning from a smoke outside again. 

To his relief, there are no giggling girls or men with beards anywhere. There are only a few people around their age who have claimed the booth right by the door to play cards and a bunch of older men taking the bar hostage, apparently deeply involved in a conversation amongst themselves. None of them pay Harry and Louis any mind as they walk to the booth by the wall, next to the jukebox, which doesn’t work and is merely there for decoration; it’s a shame, really. 

From their spot at the far back of the pub with nothing blocking their view, they can track who comes and goes. It’s great and works perfectly fine for both of them. Louis adores watching people and he thinks it makes Harry more comfortable to have no prying eyes on his back this time around. 

A low country song is playing, lulling them into the illusion that they belong in another time period. Louis relaxes against the red leather cushions of the booth as Harry fetches them each a Guinness and soon they forget that they are _ almost _ the only customers present, snuggling close to one another. They joke around and giggle, kiss and flirt unabashedly, feeling very safe and losing touch with the outside world, shielded in their little nook. 

“No, no, it wasn’t like that, oh my god!” Louis exclaims, shaking his head wildly at Harry who is laughing in mischievous delight, eyes bright, shoulders shaking. “I swear I closed my eyes for one tiny second and just then the professor had to look, right? I was definitely not drooling on my papers. He didn’t have to call me out in front of the entire class and no matter what Niall says. I. Wasn’t. _ Drooling _.” 

“Or your professor, huh? Everyone just kinda misinterpreted it, eh?” Harry smirks too smugly for Louis’ liking. 

“Right,” Louis deadpans, giving a slow eye roll. “And the worst part is,” he pauses for dramatic effect, straightening on the bench and lifting his brows. He only continues when Harry nudges him to do so. Louis giggles, “at the next lecture, my professor brought a freaking pillow for me! Like, can you believe?” He shakes his head, laughing at the memory still vivid in his mind, reliving it as Harry joins his laughter. “It was downright humiliating.” 

“Well, thankfully, I can’t relate,” Harry shrugs, chuckling, “though university really sounds fun.” 

“As if you can’t relate. You probably got into some shit in school at least, hm? Don’t tell me you were the teacher’s pet, that’s a proper turn off.” Louis pulls a funny grimace, tugging playfully on one of Harry’s baby curls at the back of his neck. 

Harry’s grin dims to a smile. 

“No way. You were, weren’t you?” Louis faux-groans, squeezing Harry’s nape. “I bet it’s all on your dimples, no teacher could resist a face like yours. I’m sure no matter what trouble you got into, you just could smile your way outta it easily.” 

Harry’s eyebrows pull together as he casts his gaze down to a spot on Louis’ chest, his shoulders sagging and oh, okay, okay. Where did Louis go wrong? 

“Did I offend you? That wasn’t my intention,” Louis interrupts Harry’s thought process. Louis can feel the awkwardness radiating off his body in waves. “Is school like a sore topic?” Fuck, now that he has already cracked the can of worms open, he of course only recalls now, looking at Harry, what he had said the first time they hung out in this pub: _ ‘everybody was bullied once in their life,’ _ or something along those lines. Louis wishes he would think before opening his big mouth. He has the urge to face-palm. 

“School is school, I…” Harry shrugs meagrely. “You didn’t offend me, no. I just don’t have any funny or cool stories to tell you, that’s all. I mostly… studied in my room,” he says the last part hesitantly, his eyes darting over Louis’ upper body. He only makes eye contact when Louis lifts his chin. There is a glint in Harry’s eyes that Louis can’t pinpoint, but on the flipside, the lights here are shitty and dim, so perhaps it’s just a trick of the lighting. 

“You don’t have to tell me. If you don’t wanna talk about it, it’s fine. School sucks anyway. Can’t wait ‘til I’m done with university. Work won’t be better I reckon, but…” he wrinkles his nose, a smile playing around his lips, “that’s life, innit? All stages of it suck. No matter where you’re at, you just wanna hide under the blankets.” 

At least that seems to rejuvenate Harry’s mood. He chuckles, the sound nearly swallowed by the music, his body relaxing and a moment later, when the song changes, his boy is back to being his smiley, happy self. Still, Louis hasn’t forgotten what happened, and makes a mental note to speculate the meaning of Harry’s sobering reaction later on.

For now, they dive head first into the most random topic out there, which happens to be flowers and what their favourites are. Louis finds out that Harry adores marigolds, thinking the yellow is such a happy, carefree colour. Louis comments that if Harry likes that colour so much he should wear it sometimes instead of his usual black clothes and that shoots them right into a discussion about their favourite colours to wear. Harry leads with good arguments that black just always works and nothing can go wrong with that colour. When Louis throws in that the same goes for white, Harry merely smiles and says white is just plain boring and only seems to notice once he has already spoken the words, that Louis is wearing a white — well, apparently, _ boring _ — shirt. It causes both of them to bust out laughing with Louis snorting, _ ‘thanks, H, thanks so much.’ _

The night goes on and when Louis brings himself to glance away from Harry, he is stunned to see the sylvan pub has filled with more people without either of them taking notice, too caught up with one another. He can barely stop his groan as his gaze falls on those damn hippie girls from the other night. This time they are standing at the bar because every single booth is occupied. They look just like Louis remembers, all of them wearing white flowy dresses with stick patterns and patches, their hair shining under the lights and their voices carrying to Louis and Harry although the music is turned up louder and the place is bustling now. 

Louis is just about to warn Harry about their appearance, but Harry catches his elbow and nods, his index drawing a line on Louis’ neck. "Yeah I see them," he murmurs in his ear. His voice is dark and hushed, and it sends a shiver down Louis’ spine. He feels Harry grin against the skin on his shoulder and he relaxes more into his side, drawing a protective arm around Harry’s waist. 

He exhales and directs his gaze away from those girls and to Harry. Beneath the table, his free hand sneaks onto Harry’s thigh, squeezing softly to ground himself and let Harry know that nothing will happen to him. Louis won’t let anyone even dare to be rude to him tonight. Though Harry doesn’t seem too bothered by them, he just wants to make sure that Harry knows. 

Turning his head, Louis seals their lips in a close-mouthed kiss. He can feel Harry hum against his chest, the vibration causing a tingling sensation to spread over his upper body. It increases when Harry cups his neck, drawing him in - although that shouldn’t be possible because the outer sides of their thighs are already touching and their chests flushed together, yet it is. Louis sinks into the heat, nearly purring himself as Harry darts out his tongue, flicking it over Louis’ bottom lip in a playful kitten-like manner, ephemeral . Louis smiles, withdrawing before it gets too heated and pecking his cheek. He leaves a wet spot behind that Harry rubs away with the back of his hand and a cute wrinkling of his tiny nose. Squeezing Harry’s thigh he mouths, _ ‘later’ _ and gets a pleased smirk in return. 

He takes a sip of beer, feeling the desire for nicotine explode on his tongue. 

Louis has pushed his need for a goddamn cigarette back the entire night, hoping in time it would vanish if he drank enough and distracted himself with Harry’s wonderful personality. See, he knows it wouldn’t be much of a trouble for him to have a quick smoke, but what happened last time is still a too vivid a memory. The urge to stay by Harry’s side has overpowered the longing for a roll of tobacco so far. However, now that he is to the point that he could call stage one of being on the best way to being drunk, it gets stronger. Apparently alcohol has the magic to increase his need, instead of making it disappear. 

He scratches his jawline, which prickles with intense craving. The inside of his mouth is dry and in need, too. It wanders to his throat and weaves its evil path into his mind until it becomes a thought on loop that grows louder than any other noise surrounding him. 

Louis licks his lips, smacking them. He knows there is no chance for him to stay put when the whirlwind and added layer on his tongue is making him restless. He adjusts his position on the bench and clears his airways. 

"I… I’ll go for a fag, yeah?" Louis whispers in Harry’s ear. 

The boy looks at him, surprised. "Yes, sure. Was already wondering…" 

Louis smiles and Harry lets him out of the booth. "Be right back," Louis says, kissing Harry before straightening his collar and definitely avoiding glancing at the girls direction on his way out — which is hard because they are right there by his side as he passes and he hears their girlish fucking titters as they apperently recognise him. Bloody girls. He wishes Perrie could be here. She has this aura around her… that is a sort of shield against those kinds of people. She can smile at them and fix everything right up. The wrong drink? No worries, with a smile like that we’ll get you anything. You actually have to wait in line but… let’s make an excuse tonight. And so on. If anyone is magic, it’s Perrie. Add Niall and it’s a combination that just can’t be broken. No trouble is too big, no request too far out of their reach. 

Stepping outside, he exhales in relief when the door swings shut behind him. Patting his pockets for the pack, he slips a cigarette out and lights it with quick fingers. He inhales until his tummy expands and his mind spins with release of nerves, finally satisfied as he is giving it what it has wanted for a good two hours. His shoulders sag in requiescence. Taking a step to the side so that he isn’t blocking the entrance, he leans against the wall and watches his grey exhale merge into the blue night. 

Louis takes a double-hit just to be done with it faster. 

A movement out of the corner of his eye prompts him turn his head and his lips catch a smile as he spots a too familiar couple walking in the distance. 

"Oi!" he calls, cupping one side of his mouth. When they don’t turn, he calls out again, louder this time, "Oi! Oi!” 

They check over their shoulders and stop as they see Louis. Liam waves wildly, a grin lighting his face which Louis can already make out even with the distance between them. 

"Louis!" Liam greets as they cross the street. Zayn follows a bit less willingly, walking a few steps behind his boyfriend. "All right? What are you doing here? It’s Tuesday." 

"Felt like it. It’s not like I gotta get up at dawn," Louis gives a full body shrug. "Do you guys wanna come inside? It’s a full house." 

Zayn huffs, crossing his arms.

Liam smiles apologetically at Louis. "We… no, I don’t think so. I’m sorry." 

Louis pouts. "But why not?" 

Zayn glances up to the sky with a disdainful look and Louis follows his gaze.

Oh. 

He hadn’t noticed that there’s a full moon again tonight. He smiles at the sight. 

It’s a beautiful warm summer night, his favourite person is waiting inside, and the sky looks like the most exquisite picture, painted in navy and dotted with sparkling stars that gleam from afar. He has to show Harry later. He will love it too. 

Directing his attention back to his friends, he lifts his brows as he sees Zayn’s expression is still set in a gloomy mask, as if the moon has personally offended him. Louis will never understand this boy, but he takes a good guess. It must have something to do with his magic voodoo nonsense. Full moon has an actual meaning for witches, right? Rituals and shit. 

"Another time, man," Liam says, patting Louis’ shoulder. 

"Yeah, you’re coming over tomorrow, right?" Zayn chimes in, clearly relieved that they are about to get going and already turning his body in the direction of the house. Louis refuses to be hurt by that. It’s silly. 

"I mean, sure, we can hang out. But I dunno about that run, Liam. We’ll have to see how my hangover is doing, but —" he shrugs, and brings his cigarette to his lips, saying before taking a drag, "Harry is here. I thought perhaps you guys would like to meet him? Just saying." He inhales smoke. 

Zayn’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. Louis mimics him and watches as the boy rotates his body fully back towards Louis, his interest definitely sparked. Hm, would you look at that...

Louis grins in victory. 

"Harry… Harry is here?" Zayn stutters, sounding a bit too astounded in Louis’ humble opinion. It’s not like Harry and Louis _ never _ go out.

"Zayn…" Liam warns and Louis feels left out as they have an entire conversation mutely right in front of him. He has no fucking idea what’s going on. Knowing that they are two oddballs doesn’t make these kinds of situations, which happen once in a while, any less peculiar. 

He smokes his cigarette and lets them finish their coupley-thing. As they are still staring and bulging their eyes at each other, Louis sighs, guessing it would just be a waste of his time to stick around and see them finish their debate. Also, very important — Harry is separated from Louis by just a door and is probably already wondering what is taking him so long. It’s one cigarette, not the entire pack. 

"Anyway, see you tomorrow," he says, once it seems established that they aren’t coming. He turns to the door, hand raised in a farewell wave. 

It brings them right out of it and Zayn blinks as if to clear his mind. "Let’s join them for a beer." His voice is slow and careful, his eyes fixated on Louis. "C’mon Liam, I want to meet this boy Louis can’t shut up about." 

A tint of pink heats Louis’ cheekbones because, okay, that’s true. Harry is just stamped into his mind, and he can’t do anything about that, now can he? He just has to vent to someone about him otherwise he would explode. It is what it is. Nonetheless, he is happy to hold the door open for them to walk through. 

"In the booth at the far end," Louis says to them, walking ahead. Nerves kick in and he doesn’t know if he should be excited or a total nervous wreck. It’s like two of his worlds are going to collide. And if this is already getting to him, he can’t imagine Harry meeting Niall for the first time. He will probably have a heart attack when the time comes. 

Harry spots him as the crowd parts, a smile on his lips. Then his eyes dart to Louis’ company and he freezes, lifting his eyebrows in question at Louis as they come to stand by the table. 

"_ Uhm… _" he fiddles with his hem, his eyes flicking from Louis to Zayn and Liam, then back to Louis. 

Louis really, really, really doesn’t want to read too much into it. 

"Harry, this is Liam and Zayn. Zayn and Liam — this is Harry," he introduces them and then slides next to Harry in the booth, nudging him a bit as he won’t move, completely rooted in place. Louis’ skin tingles. 

"Hi," Harry says, his voice a bit strained, as Liam and Zayn sit across from them. 

Liam is smiling, being his puppy-like self whilst Zayn is staring at Harry in his typical deep-in-thought manner. It’s nothing out of the ordinary here. Zayn and Harry are much more alike than Louis and Zayn, since both are kind of weird about encountering people in general with their asocial personalities. 

It’s nothing much to worry about. Louis shouldn’t be worried, yet as they just stay in their little silently-staring-at-one-another bubble, regret starts to loom over his head for inviting his friends indoors without checking with Harry first if it was okay. It’s just… naturally he wanted his newly-won friends to meet Harry and Harry to meet them in turn, especially since he’s been pouting like a child over it ever since Louis started hanging out with the couple. Louis just took his chance and ran with it because Lord knows Harry won’t go to their house, either being busy on his own or busy with Louis and Liam and Zayn refuse to hang out at his mum’s place. 

Now, he feels compunction. Harry was carefree and cuddly, enjoying their rare night out and now, well… he feels like he has ruined that. 

Louis sighs, drawing at least Liam’s attention to him. He smiles at him, forcing his lips to stretch extra wide and happy. His teeth peek out, and Liam returns it quickly, giving Louis a bit of relief. 

They just need to warm up. That’s all, nothing more. Harry and Zayn are reserved by nature, Liam and Louis in turn easygoing. Opposites attract, eh? 

"You’re without any drinks…" Louis says the obvious, but it feels good to say something. Anything would do to break the awkward silence. "What can I get you guys? It’s on me." 

"Oh, you don’t have to Louis…" Liam starts, brown puppy eyes innocently widening. "Really, don’t—" 

"Nonsense," Louis gets up, flattening his hands on the table. "So? What can I get you?" 

"I’ll come with you," Liam offers and stands up too. "You can’t carry it on your own. We’re four people." 

"Is that an insult?" Louis pouts. 

Liam grins, "It’s a kind offer." 

Neither of their dates look up at them or interrupt or… well, pay them any mind at all. Louis guesses that Liam, too, is looking for one second of getting away from the hazardousness that has built between Harry and Zayn. Harry has lowered his eyes to his lap and Zayn, being Zayn, stares at him so intensely that Louis has the urge to snap at him that it’s rude to openly stare. No wonder animals hide from humans in the zoo - Louis would too. 

The need to step in becomes urgent, but with another wary glance at the situation, he shakes it off his shoulders. They can be alone for a moment. It’s not like they are going to jump at each other’s throats. It’s just that neither of them knows how to communicate, that’s it. Yeah. They will survive. Eh. Anyway. 

Liam taps his shoulder and they go to the bar, having to wait a bit next to the old townsfolk to place their order. 

With a shuddery sigh, Louis leans heavily on the wooden counter and ruffles his hair. "Do they know each other?" he asks Liam, who glances around the pub with a cheerful expression on his face along with a smile that drops when they make eye contact. Liam lifts his eyebrows in surprise. 

"Uh nah, I don’t think so," Liam gives a quick shrug. "Zayn isn’t amazingly good with people, you know that. If so, I would know Harry, too, because Zayn doesn’t have… uh, a lot. Okay, this sounds bad. He’s lovely, it’s just that people don’t appreciate him enough." His face twists in a wince. “Please don’t tell him I said that.” 

Louis snorts. “Who would have guessed? Anyways, yes, sure he doesn’t like people much but..." A frown overtakes his features. "He was pretty eager to get inside to meet H. It’s just odd." 

Liam shrugs. He probably stopped thinking about why Zayn does things a long time ago and now is simply used to his mysterious genes. "I think he was just curious. He usually avoids the pub around this time of month. We were on our way home from his shop." 

Louis scratches his neck, giving Liam a puzzled look. "What time of month?" 

Liam blinks. "Did I say that?" 

Louis shakes his head. "Whatever. It’s probably another belief thing of his, isn’t it?" 

"Oh," Liam’s chest falls visibly in relief, "that’s it, yup." 

"I still don’t understand it." 

"He comes from a special family." 

Louis believes that and therefore lets it go. 

They order four pints of Guinness and walk very carefully back to the table, each of their hands full. Since Louis is prone to spilling shit all over the place, he concentrates so hard on the glasses, his eyes darting from one to the other, that he nearly runs into the table. Finally, he puts them down with a grand huff and wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead. Made it. 

Harry relaxes into his side as he slides onto the bench and drapes and arm around his shoulder. Louis pecks his temple. Zayn’s eyes are on him, watching the movement. Louis isn’t having it. It’s enough. 

"Got anything to say?" Louis raises his brows, challenging his friend. "I mean… mate, c’mon." 

"Don’t tempt me," Zayn says and takes a big gulp of his beer, emptying it halfway. It’d be impressive in any other situation, but his words unleash Louis’ exasperation and he tenses by Harry’s side. "Thanks for the Guinness though, cheers.”

What the fuck is wrong with him? This is more than being ‘not good with people’. 

Louis has already opened his mouth to say his bit, but Harry cuts in, squeezing his leg where it is hidden under the table. 

"Just leave it," Harry mumbles in his ear. "Please… I don’t—" 

"You’re _ not _ the problem here," Louis interjects, not bothering to keep his voice low. Zayn snorts into his pint and Louis sends him a quick frown. 

“Just leave it, Lou…” Harry murmurs again. 

Ugh. Fine. _ Fine _. Louis doesn’t want to fight either, he just wants to know why the fuck Zayn has his knickers in a twist. 

Liam’s nervous gaze flickers from his boyfriend to Louis and Harry. 

And, well, fuck it. At least one other person is in the same hot spot he is in. Louis takes a huge gulp, mimicking Zayn and emptying his glass halfway. He needs alcohol more than ever to get through this night. Harry squeezes his thigh again, and Louis composes himself a bit. He puts his glass down. 

"How do you guys know each other?" Zayn asks. His voice is calm, but has a prompting undertone to it. 

Harry stiffens next to Louis and sits more upright, causing Louis’ arm to slip from his shoulders. 

"Harry came to say _ ‘hi’ _ when we moved in," Louis says with a forced smile. "Then we met at the pub later. I think I told you that." 

"I remember," Zayn waves an impatient hand. "So, you met at the house, yes?" 

"Yes…" Harry narrows his eyes. "We did." 

"Hm…" 

Louis rolls his eyes. "Zayn, c’mon. We met at the house, yes. Harry saw us move in, wanted to say welcome and whatnot, and that’s it. Okay? Why are you grilling him?" 

"Am I? I simply asked one single question." 

"Anyway," Liam chimes in, breaking through the conversation before it gets out of hand, thank fuck. "Louis, we should go running the day after tomorrow if you’re too hungover. I thought we could do intervallic training? Like jogging for three minutes or so and then sprinting as fast as possible. Are you up for that or…?" 

Louis really, really, really _ loves _ Liam. Bless Liam. Liam is a gift sent from God himself - or well, herself, who knows right? Anyway. Louis takes the opportunity by hand to turn this night around and jumps straight into the wonderful and desperately needed change of topic, discussing other training techniques with him. He doesn’t care about the topic that much and most of it flies right over his head, but it’s whatever, at least Zayn and Harry stop glaring at each other down and listen quietly. It’s a tiny step forward, that’s what it is. 

Harry leans into Louis and as the night goes on, it becomes easier, more manageable. 

Zayn is slowly becoming the person Louis got to know, telling them a story about this woman who wants to buy a bunch of his cultured herbs which he takes great care of and loves dearly. He is proud of them as a mother would be of her child and is thinking of selling them at his store in the near future. 

Harry, too, is transforming into his usual self. He tells them about this one time he thought he was going to drown in the forest lake because he never really learned how to swim. Zayn, Louis finds out, can’t swim either, and sympathises with Harry. After that, both boys grow more friendly towards the other. Or well, Zayn, more like, Harry has just peeled himself out of his shy shell. 

Liam wants to teach Louis how to bake those amazing biscuits from Zayn’s mum’s recipe and that opens a discussion between Zayn and Liam about why that can’t happen since it’s a traditional family recipe and is only passed down to the next generation. When Liam argues that he isn’t a part of the family and knows about it, Zayn mutters under his breath, _ ‘not yet, maybe,’ _ and that has the effect of shutting Liam right up as he turns pink and goo-eyed. 

And so it goes. 

Booze flows freely. They take turns to pay and are never thirsty that way. 

Harry and Louis slip out for a smoke here and there and whenever Louis asks if Zayn wants to join, he always shrugs and says, _ 'later'. _ Louis wonders when later will be, since it’s already past midnight. But Liam isn’t smoking, so Zayn probably doesn’t want to leave Liam alone at the table and Louis finds that rather cute. 

Liam and Harry get along great. Their chit-chat is easy and comfortable, full of laughter. Harry has even warmed up so much he is cracking jokes that have Liam howling and Zayn chuckling by his side. 

It warms Louis’ heart and lifts the huge fucking rock which landed on his chest and cut off all air for the first part of his friends meeting. 

Harry wants to pay the next round, and he gets up to do so. Since the pub is now overfilled with people, Louis loses sight of him rather quickly as he pushes through the mass to get to the bar. He sighs and turns to his friends as they fall into a discussion about what life on the moon would be like. 

As time passes and Harry isn’t back yet, Louis frowns. Zayn must have noticed, too, because he raises his eyebrows at Louis, taunting. 

"Missing someone?" he asks with a lazy smile, letting his dark lashes flutter. Dickhead. 

"I’ll just—" 

"Yes, go," Liam smiles. "I’m nearly dried out. He better hurry." 

Louis sends what feels like a million _ 'excuse me’s _ to people as he passes them and accidentally steps on more than one foot. He ends up caged between two bodies, but is at least able to get a better look at the bar where he finds Harry talking to that group of hippies who snickered at him previously. His brows lift before pulling together, strongly. Huh, this is interesting — unexpected, to say the least. 

Harry has his back to him, his upper body weight slopped on the bar, his elbows propped on the surface as he bends close to hear them over the music blasting through the room. They are all nodding along to whatever he is saying and by the look of it, he seems relaxed. He waves an airy hand around, his shoulder blades loose under his black tee.

Should Louis go over or… he doesn’t want to bother him, nor seem like he is spying or… checking on him or _ whatever _. His legs are frozen in place as he stands between people he doesn’t know and chatter, laughter, and music floats around him. Harry does look like he’s into it, so there is no need for Louis to jump in and save him from attention that is potentially bothering him. 

_ This is so weird. _

A little pang explodes in his chest as one of the girls leans over and tugs on Harry’s hair, a flirty smile on her face and her eyes bright and gleaming. Harry doesn’t shake her off and, even from a distance, Louis is able to hear his familiar laugh as she says something to him. The other girls giggle their annoying fucking titters, too, and Louis has seen enough. 

With gritted teeth, he pushes further to the bar and weaves in the middle of two men who are sitting on high stools. 

"Excuse me," Louis smiles but it feels strained. "I just wanna order, keep going." 

They nod and continue their conversation behind his back. He has to wait a bit for the barman to notice him. The left half of his face burns as he represses the urge over and over again to glimpse at the group. He ignores the little nervous flutter in his chest and presses more into the counter, his breath leaving his nostrils shallowly. 

The barman finally comes to him, smiling behind his moustache and nodding as Louis orders one more round for their table before he gets to work. 

"You the boy from that hippie mansion?" the guy from his right asks. 

Louis blinks, alcohol and the knowledge that Harry isn’t far away making his mind dizzy and slow. His mouth is dry from his last cigarette.

"Come again?" he asks, shifting his face closer to the man. 

"The hippie mansion, you live there?" 

"Mansion?" Louis frowns. 

"He probably isn’t," the other says from Louis’ left, around his back to his friend. "It’s a couple, freshly married, I heard. My wife met the woman at the grocery store. Seemed nice enough. It’s a shame, really." 

Louis doesn’t comment, but his heart races. They are definitely talking about his mum. 

"She even invited us over for dinner — can you believe?" he barks a laugh, and the other joins in. "Madness, pure madness!" 

"We’re the mad ones, Charles!" the guy from his right says. "We’re here!" 

Louis’ eyebrows twitch. What? 

The man points a finger to the group of girls which Louis has tried so hard to resist looking at. He does now, though as his view straight ahead is blocked by a beefy arm. He checks, hesitant that they are indeed talking about the hippie birds. 

Harry isn’t with them anymore. Louis shudders a sigh.

"What about them?" Louis can’t help but ask. 

Both men share a look. 

"You aren’t from here, eh?" 

"He’s too young." 

"He should know!" 

"Excuse me," Louis raises his voice, causing both men to fall silent. "What should I know?" 

"Here are your beers, mate," the barman interrupts, putting four fresh beers under Louis’ nose. 

Louis pays absently, asking the men again with a more forceful voice: "What should I know?"

But they are silent and don’t give him any mind. Unexpectedly, a hand presses against Louis’ lower back, causing him to startle. His eyes widen, and he pushes himself more against the counter, but then there is breathing in his ear and a familiar smell creeping up his nose and he relaxes. Harry… it’s Harry and not one of those men putting a hand on him. For a second he thought…

"We’re all waiting for you," Harry murmurs close to his ear. "Lemme help." 

Arms stretch around either side of Louis and Harry takes two tall pint glasses and heads back to the table. Louis takes the other two and just when he turns, he hears one of the men — Charles, he believes — hiss, "_ Freak… _ " and the other replies, " _ Shouldn’t have come here tonight _". 

Instead of telling them what’s on his mind, that they should back the fuck off and shut their filthy mouths, he straightens his spine and goes back to the table, putting the pints down with another heave of his chest.

"You okay?" Harry asks as Louis sits next to him.

"Sure," Louis mutters, taking a well-deserved sip of his drink. The first sip is always the best. He takes another right after, washing down his ill feelings, anxiety, _ everything _. 

"We thought you guys snuck out," Liam grins, clinking his glass against Harry’s as he too holds it up. 

"Nah, not yet." 

"What were you doing?" Zayn asks, wiping foam off his upper lip. His eyes scan Louis’ face as if every single one of his thoughts are written on his skin, displayed in plain sight and there for Zayn to read. 

Louis shrugs. He glances at Harry carefully, but he is talking to Liam and doesn’t notice. 

Seriously, it’s fine. They were just having a chat, that is it, nothing more. He is being ridiculous to think Harry would even consider any of the girls. He was rather hostile to them as well when Louis went over to their table asking what they were laughing at. So there is no reason, no reason at all to get jealous about Harry talking to someone who isn’t him, _ Jesus _. Louis purses his lips and averts his eyes. 

"Those guys…" Louis starts, gesturing to the bar, "I was waiting for our drinks and they were… like, talking about those girls." His finger moves to the end of the bar where the hippies stand, still chatting amongst one another. "I think," he frowns, scratching his chin. 

"What were they saying?" Zayn asks. His eyebrows twitch downward, but Louis can’t read his expression. It’s a blank mask. 

"Dunno, really. Didn’t make much sense to me. Everyone in this town is weird and crazy, I swear. That includes you guys as well," he grins, feeling the need to lighten the conversation and forget that encounter he had with those men at the bar, and perhaps Harry talking to those hippies as well. It was nothing. _ Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. La-la-la-la _ — his mind can shut the hell up, he refuses to give into the green feeling. 

"Fuck you," Zayn says with a loose grin. 

"I moved to crazy Ga-Ga-Town. I swear it, haven’t had this many bizarre conversations in my _ entire _ life." 

"Bet you can’t wait to go back home," Liam says, chiming into their conversation as he sucks a sip of his beer. 

"No shit," Louis mutters into his pint without thinking. 

Zayn’s eyes flicker to Harry. "You gonna visit Louis? I really want to. Lou has told us so much about Bristol, I’m sure I could find my way around the city with no trouble.”

Louis grins at that, coming to terms with the fact that he has a tiny problem which he has no desire to fix: when he takes an interest or something is dear to his heart, he can’t shut up about it — at least when he is in safe company. “We could give you a ride. Visit all together. It’d be a great trip." 

"Oh, what a brilliant idea! How fun!" Liam grins, cooing, "_ Zayn _," as he kisses the top of his raven hair. 

Zayn scrunches his nose but his eyes stay on Harry who…

Louis only notices it now, but Harry isn’t looking too happy. His grip on his glass is so hard that his knuckles pale to a white. 

"You don’t have to," Louis says quickly, though he feels hurt bloom in his chest. That added to Harry flirting — the more he thinks about it, the more he recognises his body language — is a hard blow to take. 

"Why not, though? You guys seem pretty close," Zayn pushes. "Wouldn’t you miss Louis once he’s gone out of the house?" 

"Of course I would," Harry snarls, a sharp expression on his face.

Zayn relaxes back, a shit-eating grin on his face. Louis wonders why Zayn is trying - and he has done so all night - to push Harry in a corner. The situation is way over Louis’ spinning head. He is too drunk for any of it. He just wanted to have a nice night; is that too much to ask? 

"So…" Zayn gives a one shoulder shrug, his fingers drumming on the table. "What’s the problem then?" 

"Cars make me feel claustrophobic." 

Zayn chuckles as if to say, _ 'aha, aha'. _

Liam sends a confused look over to Louis which he returns. Again, he isn’t the only one who is puzzled about Zayn and Harry’s behaviour. It’s getting a bit old now. 

Louis gulps the rest of his beer in one go whilst Liam whispers something in Zayn’s ear, hopefully telling him off in a _ friendly _ way. If he doesn’t, Louis will - and not so nicely at that. 

"Are you okay?" Harry whispers. 

"I…" Louis wets his lips, "I am. Are you?" 

"I’d like to go." 

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. He blinks at Harry. "For real?" 

Harry gives a hesitant shrug. "Yeah. I’d like to stop by the lake, like last time." His hand wanders on Louis’ thigh. "Maybe we can go for a night swim. I promise not to drown." His green eyes are alight and sparkling, and a suggestion swims in them that Louis is too weak to resist. 

No matter what was going on with those girly birdy girls before, Harry is here now. Harry wants _ him, _ not them. Everything else, like Harry coming for a visit, is out in the open and needs to be discussed in a quiet place without having Zayn’s eyes on them. They have time. Harry was probably caught off guard by Zayn’s offer and Louis guesses it’d be for the best to not let both of them get into a car together. There is no way out when the wheels are rolling down the street and Louis would rather have Harry with him in one piece, thank you. He pushes it all aside and concentrates on the present, taking in Harry’s smile and excited expression as if he can feel that Louis has made his mind up. 

"Why not? Yeah…" Louis nods, smiling now easier than before. 

Harry nods too, pleased with their after midnight plans. 

"Louis," Zayn’s voice cuts loud and clear through the music, though it’s still blasting.

Louis raises his eyebrows to say, _ 'what?' _

"Let’s go for a smoke." There is a look in his eyes that Louis can’t place. Again. Like there has been all night long. 

What is up with everyone? He wasn’t lying when he said everyone is crazy. Zayn might be on top of this list. Perhaps it’s the fucking full moon. Jesus. 

"Okay," Louis says, but Harry holds him back, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Zayn stares at Harry. 

"I’ll come with you," Harry says, a false smile painted on his lips. 

"That’s not necessary," Zayn huffs. "You stay with Liam." 

Harry and Zayn start bickering anew. 

Louis rolls his eyes at Liam, who rolls his in return. 

Shared misery, they say… 

"You know what?” he says, waiting until he has their attention before continuing. “You guys go for a smoke, and I’ll stay with Liam. It’s fine." Louis nods curtly, his smile so fake that it hurts, but his patience has run out, so there is that. "I’ll have a cig later." 

Zayn and Harry fall into silence as if they hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. Neither of them looks particularly pleased with Louis’ idea, visibly cringing at the other. After a long-suffering beat of only music and chatter, a snarky smile steals itself on Harry’s lips. 

"Lets go, Zee." 

"Don’t call me that," Zayn hisses, getting up. 

"Zaynie," Harry smirks. 

"Shut up." 

"Zay-Zay." 

Louis and Liam watch with wary eyes as their dates make their way to the door, both exhaling shakily at the same time. 

"What’s up with Zayn? He doesn’t seem to like Harry very much," Louis says.

"Honestly… I don’t know. I thought they were getting along great for a while." 

"Yeah…" Louis mutters his agreement, rolling his glass in his palm. His eyes flicker to the girls. "Uh, hey, Li?" 

"Hm?" 

"Do you know them?" he nods towards the group.

Liam turns to peek over his shoulder. "Oh them…" he frowns when they are facing one another again. "I wouldn’t bother with them." 

"So you know them?" 

Liam nods. "Everyone does in _ some _ way." 

"In what way do you know them?" Louis pushes, finally having someone who seems to know more and is open to revealing a bit to Louis. Everyone speaks in riddles around here and Louis isn’t smart enough to catch on. Perhaps it’s all common knowledge that they just assume he knows shit that goes down here, too. 

"Zayn, he used to be somewhat like friends with them," Liam shrugs, averting his eyes to the table. He plays with his halfway empty pint glass, letting it slide from one palm to the other. "They weren’t that close, though." 

"Why? I mean, why _ ‘used to be’? _What happened?" 

"I don’t know, just… stuff." Liam’s eyes flicker up nervously, then he looks over his shoulder again. "They were friends because those girls have some interesting beliefs and you know how Zayn is. I think they’re in a cult or something and when Zayn found that out about them, things broke off…" 

"A cult?" Louis deadpans. "Like an alternative church thing? Like Tom Cruise is involved in?"

He cringes at that. He watched a YouTube video about it a while ago and it wasn’t all too pleasant so to say. It sounds like more of a Church from Hell than something God would approve of. Louis isn’t religious. His mum never went to church once after she had gotten married to her first husband, therefore it wasn’t a topic discussed at home. Mostly they use God in their swears and curses. 

Liam snorts, shaking his head. "Look at them. I don’t think it has something to do with religion, more with like freedom of spirit or…" He draws his shoulders to his ears, his gaze fixed on Louis. "I don’t know. I keep my distance from them though. I don’t like 'em very much." 

"They were laughing at Harry the last time we were here," Louis confesses, wetting his lips. "Tonight I… when I went to check on him, he was like talking to them. Flirting?" He wrinkles his nose, again unsure about what he saw. "I know this sounds childish, it’s just… I don’t understand." 

Liam gives a helpless shrug. "I don’t know Harry, but… really, from what I have seen tonight you shouldn’t be too worried about it. He’s smitten with you, I can tell." 

Louis allows a smile to creep onto his lips. "Yeah?" His cheeks heat a bit, _ a tiny bit _ — from the alcohol, of course. 

"Yeah, one hundred percent," Liam nods firmly, his eyes sincere. 

That reminds Louis — 

"Where are they at?" Louis questions out loud, lifting his brows at Liam. "Maybe _ they _ ditched _ us _." 

Liam snorts a laugh. "Yeah, no. I don’t think so." 

"C’mon, it was all an act. They were just waiting for their chance," Louis grins slowly, wiggling his eyebrows. "Those bastards… we’re on to you," he clicks his tongue, faux-baffled. 

Liam chuckles and finishes his beer, burping into his fist. "Let’s see if you’re right. S’late anyway." 

To their not-so-complete surprise, they find both of their boys smoking outside. They don’t notice them at first as they are deep in conversation. Harry is speaking low and faster than Louis ever heard him talk, his words slurred together in a blur that Louis’ mind can’t entangle. Zayn is shaking his head, an unfazed smile on his lips. 

The crisp night air hits him fully and it’s like every consumed drop of booze is suddenly in his blood at once and he has to steady his step with the support of Liam’s wide shoulders. That still isn’t enough for Louis’ feet and he stumbles, but Liam catches him easily, helping him on their way. 

Harry stops talking at once as he sees them coming. His eyes fix on Louis, then narrow at the arm that Louis has slung over Liam’s shoulder and Liam’s hand on Louis’ waist. 

Well… Louis doesn’t want to feel glee at that, yet has to dip his chin to his chest to hide a smile. 

"Alright?" Zayn murmurs. 

Louis lets up from Liam, tripping over to Harry and falling into his already open arms. He nuzzles Harry’s neck. 

"Are you?" Liam asks back. So, he noticed the angry air between the two boys, too. 

"Always," Zayn replies. 

Louis turns in Harry’s arms, draping them over his shoulders and interlocking their fingers together near his belly button. Harry’s weight on his back is comforting and his breath lulls him more into the mush he is slowly becoming. His sways on his heels, causing them both to stumble backwards. Harry chuckles into his hair, and Louis grins. 

"Tonight was quite the night," Louis says loudly, unable to help his sarcastic undertone. "We should do it again sometime." 

"How about this Friday," Zayn replies, again a sick-humoured grin on his shadowed features. "You’re in, H, right?" 

"Hmm…" Harry hums, his chest vibrating on Louis’ spine. "We’ll see." 

"Remember our run, Lou," Liam smiles, tangling his fingers with Zayn’s. "We can make plans then." 

"Run, right," Louis huffs, remembering how they had changed plans yet again for them to go running in the morning. That just shows how drunk Louis is. He made plans to go running. Hungover. Great. They should just leave it for the day after tomorrow. "I don’t think—" 

"We have to!" Liam frowns. "We drank a lot tonight, we gotta burn it off—" 

"Oh shut up, Li. Burning calories, honestly," Zayn kisses him before he rolls his eyes, sickenly fond. "See you guys," Zayn says with a wave, tugging Liam in the opposite direction. 

"Bye!" Liam calls over his shoulder. 

Louis and Harry look after them, laughing quietly.

"Let’s go to the lake…" Harry whispers in Louis’ ear. 

"Do you really…" Louis pouts. His bones are tired. Going out is exhausting.

"Yeah c’mon. It’s on the way." 

"Fine, fine,” Louis caves with a sigh. "Let’s go. If I drown, it’s definitely your fucking fault though." 

* * * 

They are lying side by side at the lake, each nursing a cigarette. It has gotten a few degrees colder since they left the pub, but the alcohol gives the illusion of warmth in Louis’ bloodstream. He only shivers slightly as a brisk breeze licks at the red tip of his nose. It’s quiet out here, no cars, no voices, no music. His intoxicated head is still up in the clouds. 

"So what was that all about?" Louis asks, exhaling smoke into the deep blue sky. 

"What?" Harry drawls, scratching his exposed neck. "What do you mean?" 

"Zayn," Louis’ eyebrows draw together, and he takes another short drag. "You guys… were—" _ intense, rude, weird, angry, hostile… _

"What about him? Nothing, really," Harry sighs, directing his eyes to the moon.

Louis snorts and gives him an unbelieving look. "C’mon, you don’t really think I’ll buy into that, huh? I’m not _ that _ dumb." 

"I’m not saying you’re dumb. You’re just happy." 

Louis gives an eye roll. "Oh, fuck off with Nirvana. I’m being serious." 

"_ The sun is gone. But I have a light _ ," Harry starts singing anyway, as Louis knew he would, " _ the day is done. But I'm having fun… _ " — Louis snorts, hiding his face in the crooks of his elbows — " _ I think I'm dumb. Or maybe just happy… _" 

He hears Harry move beside him and presses his arms more to his forehead as Harry tries to uncover his face. They fight for about a second before Harry overpowers him and twists his arms upward, flanking each side of Louis’ head on the grass. Louis loses hold of his cigarette which tumbles out of his limp fingers. He holds his breath as Harry puts his upper weight on top of Louis’ chest. His grip is strong and Louis knows he wouldn’t stand a chance to get out of it although he struggles with him, not wanting to give in too easily to being manhandled like that.

Louis bares his teeth at him like a dog and Harry merely grins, eyes shining brighter than the stars above as he sings on, his deep voice wavering with a repressed laugh. "_ Think I'm just happy. My heart is broke but I have some glue, help me inhale and mend it with you... _" he ends, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sing the next lines,” Harry murmurs, “c’mon, I know you know them.” 

“No I don’t,” Louis lies. 

“I will just continue singing until you sing with me and I won’t stop at _ Dumb _. They have a lot of songs out there and I know every bloody lyric.”

Louis groans. Harry laughs. 

“Snob,” Louis teases. 

“Who, me? Never.” 

“_ Fine _ ,” Louis huffs and stops fighting, going lax in Harry’s hold and murmuring the next lines because shit, yes Harry is correct, by now he knows the lyrics by heart and if someone woke him up at night and told him to fucking sing it, he could do it even if he was half-asleep. That’s how far Louis has come and all thanks to the boy who’s holding him in place, with no way to escape. “ _ We’ll float around and hang out on clouds, then we’ll come down and have a hangover, have a hangover… _” 

Harry clicks his tongue. 

“_ Skin the sun. Fall asleep. Wish away. The soul is cheap. Lesson learned… _” Louis raises his eyebrows, prompting Harry. 

“_ Wish me luck. Soothe the burn. Wake me up _.” 

Together they finish the song, their voices melting into one purr. _ “I'm not like them. But I can pretend. The sun is gone. But I have a light. The day is done. But I'm having fun. I think I'm dumb.” _

“And here I thought I was just happy,” Louis rolls his head to the side, grinning sharply at Harry. 

“Well, you don’t look particularly _ unhappy _ to me, and we both know you’re smarter than I am.” 

“_ Pfffshh _,” 

“It’s true,” Harry shrugs, nonchalant. 

“You can’t measure intelligence, actually. Everyone is smart in their own way. A fish can’t climb a tree.” 

Harry preens at him. “I definitely am feeling better now, thanks.” 

Louis huffs a laugh, his eyes rolling upward as he takes in the position his hands are in. Harry is still holding him down, his index stroking over Louis’ inner wrists. 

“Are you going to release me any time soon?” Louis asks, quirking a single brow at Harry.

As if Harry only realised now that he still has Louis caged, he blinks owlishly for a moment. A smug expression appears on his face and he smirks at Louis, dimples popping out and deepening immediately. 

“I don’t know,” Harry drawls. “I quite like you like that.”

_ Oh _. 

Louis’ mouths runs dry at Harry’s teasing words. Does that mean what he thinks it does? If so…

A sensation of sparks shivers along Louis’ spine, settling at the lower part of his back. His toes curl inwardly inside his shoes. 

“Well…” Louis says because he feels like he has to say something at least.

His eyes dart from Harry’s left to his right, taking in how dazzling Harry looks. His head is surrounded by moonshine which looks like a halo around the autumn curls that frame his face. His cheeks are tingled pink and Louis doesn’t know if it’s from the alcohol or something else or a combination of several things. His eyes track the motion as Harry swallows, the way his Adam’s apple bobs and how a soft exhale leaves his parted lips, fanning along with a midnight breeze over Louis’ chin. 

Harry is still caressing Louis’ wrist. He must be able to feel his rapid pulse under his skin. 

Neither of them is saying anything, nor are they moving closer together or apart. Instead they maintain eye contact and the longer they stare, the more Louis’ body becomes restless. But he doesn’t want to overstep and make Harry flee again. After all, they had a great night together and Louis doesn’t want to ruin it with his own selfish desire, but the boy is making it proper hard for him, looking the way he does, holding him down, teasing him with a slow drip of his words like he is enjoying working Louis up only to let him dangle in the air. 

It’s not fair, that is what it is. Louis is weak and Harry is beautiful and…

And, there it is, just like Louis knew it would happen. Harry’s glazed with lust expression changes as he sets his jaw and releases Louis’ wrist out of his strong grip, glancing to the side, suddenly closed off. 

“Hey,” Louis murmurs tenderly, waiting until Harry looks back at him. When he does, he carries on, his voice staying merely above a whisper, his heartbeat louder than his spoken words. “You’re thinking too much, H. If you don’t want to, we don’t have to do anything.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, his teeth sinking into the plump flesh of his bottom lip. Louis cups his cheek, thumbing over his creamy skin. Harry leans into the touch, a rebellious curl falling in front of his face. Louis tucks it behind his ear and smiles. 

“Your call, really,” he says, seeing so much want but also so much hesitation in the familiar green eyes. 

“My call, huh?” It was meant to be teasing but it falls right on the nose because Harry’s rough voice breaks. He clears his throat. 

Louis swallows and nods. “Whatever you wanna do, I’m good with it.” 

Harry smiles shyly. It builds such a contrast in comparison to his former overly confident, cocky smirk. 

“Hm,” Louis thumbs over his wet bottom lip, an idea reeling through his mind, “would you like to watch?” 

“Watch… what?” Harry’s eyebrows create a strong line as his forehead wrinkles, looking goddamn innocent. Louis pokes the tip of his tongue into the inside of his cheek before sweeping it over the back of his teeth, trying to control his amused grin. 

“Watch me,” he says, slowly, breathily. “Watch me touch myself.” 

Harry’s jaw slackens slightly as he exhales in surprise, the confusion on his forehead smoothing. Still, a perplexed look is written all over his delicate features as if Louis has suggested something of great value, something he has never heard of before. It makes it even more appealing to Louis, now that the suggestion is out. He yearns for Harry’s eyes on him as he works himself, seeing how turned on he can get Harry without even raising a single finger to pleasure the boy. It sounds hot and craving pools in his lower belly. His legs tense and the vein on his cock starts pulsing. 

He slides his hand from Harry’s cheek to his shoulder, squeezing. 

“Do you want to?” Louis coaxes, sneaking his hand between their bodies and to the button of his trousers. He flattens his hand on the outline of his already half-hard cock, groaning softly as Harry’s gaze follows him, his curls building a curtain that Harry hides behind. Louis starts stroking over his clothed cock, watching Harry carefully. 

Harry’s gaze settles back on Louis’ face. 

“You’re safe with me, you know,” Louis says. “No matter what you’re struggling with, I’m here. Nothing is going to happen that you don’t agree to, okay?” 

Instead of an answer in the form of words, Harry dips his chin, cupping the nape of Louis’ neck and nearing his face in slow motion as if to test if Louis will shy away from his touch. The tips of their noses bump and then, finally, finally, Harry’s lips sink onto his and a small high whine blows out of Louis’ nose. The kiss together with his own hand on his cock sends his mind up to the sky amongst the stars and he feels close to heaven as Harry grows hungrier now that he has gotten a taste. He parts Louis’ lips with his, deepening the kiss as he turns his head sideways and sucks an inhale through his nostrils. Their tongues make contact and Louis can taste beer mixed with cigarettes on Harry. 

Harry hums against him and sweeps the tip of his tongue over Louis’ bottom lip before suckling on it and switching to a slow nibble a heartbeat later. Louis can’t hold back a long groan as his teeth graze into his flesh. One hand falls limp and useless on the grass while the other is still putting pressure on his dick. Honestly, Louis could cum just from this, especially since he’s been worked up so much lately. Weeks of endless teasing from Harry, weeks of repressing his desire for more, all catch up with him as Harry sucks Louis’ whine into his mouth, swallowing it and groaning in return, his body shaking slightly against Louis’ chest like he’s close to breaking too. His body becomes responsive to every tiny touch and when Harry’s hand finds its way on top of his own, adding even more to the pressure on his cock, he feels like he’s floating above his body. He lets out a weak mewl as Harry joins him in his lazy strokes. 

With his free hand, he fists Harry’s curls, tugging. The boy seems to like it very much and as he shudders on top of Louis, the licks and kisses of his lips falter. He holds still as Louis does it again, as if to compose himself. Their tongues meet in a delicious roll, massaging each other. Louis sighs into the heat of Harry’s mouth as their saliva mixes and their kiss turns sloppy. A white noise rings in his ears as they part and gasp for air. 

“Do you want to?” Louis asks again, licking spit off his lips. His grip on Harry’s hair tightens, needing to ground himself. 

Green meets blue and a fire erupts. Louis has to press his bum more into the earth so as not to buck up against his palm. It’d ruin the fun, if it ended too soon and they have barely started. 

“We… we don’t have to,” Louis backtracks once more, because he is no mind reader and although Harry wanted it so far, he hasn’t said anything. Louis’ clenches his abs and curls his toes, trying to come back down to earth just in case Harry is going to back out. He isn’t interested in dying of blue balls tonight. He just wants Harry to be comfortable if they are going to do anything more than this. “We really don’t just…” _ say something, please. _

“Don’t touch yourself,” Harry murmurs, eyes roaming over every inch of Louis’ face. “I want to feel you, wanna make you feel good.” 

The words send a tingle to his throbbing dick, and he chuckles breathlessly. “Okay, okay… I… okay,” he stammers, nodding. 

Harry’s smile comes slowly, turning lopsided as his gaze twinkles at him. “Let’s get this off first though,” he murmurs, pinching the hem of Louis’ neckline. 

“Have at it,” Louis says, stretching his arms above his head and closing his eyes. His entire body twitches when hands creep below his shirt and cup the curves of his waist. Harry strokes his sides and finally rolls the fabric of his shirt up until his nipples are exposed, hardening as night air hits them. His hot body combined with the cold air sends a shiver down his spine. He licks over his teeth as he lifts his head and lets Harry undress him. 

“Hey,” Louis chuckles into the dark as Harry covers his face with his shirt, but sobers rather quickly when a kiss is dropped unexpectedly to his sternum, his muscles tensing. It’s fucking hot. He fists the grass as Harry leaves a wet trail from the middle of his chest to his belly button. His leg twitches as Harry’s tongue swirls in a circle on his skin, the wetness prickling as hot and cold clash together. It’s almost too much. He feels like he is going under, losing touch with reality under his own shirt. He pants as Harry nibbles on a spot on his waist, wanting to shy away from his torturing touch. His body is completely aflame now, but he knows there is no going back now. It’s either release in the form of an orgasm or of death itself - there is no in-between. Louis moans into the fabric as Harry sucks his skin into his warm mouth, marking Louis, making him his. 

He is a blind mess on the grass as Harry straddles his hips, his hard-on pressing against Louis’ own. It’s overwhelming, his skin sensitive and his other senses increased by his inability to see. Goosebumps spread over his exposed limbs and he holds as still as a board to prevent himself from doing something stupid like bucking up and grinding against Harry. Still, every atom in his body screams at him to do so, needing friction, greedy now that he is so close. 

Harry, however, has different plans than getting it on just yet and giving Louis what he yearns for. 

He takes his sweet time exploring Louis’ torso with slow licks and wet kisses, his tongue circling his nipples. Louis is nearly a crying puddle when he finally takes his nipple into his mouth and suckles and nibbles on it. It gets to be too much, the shirt now suffocating him when he needs air the most. With one abrupt movement, he rips it off, tossing it somewhere to the side and pants for air, his chest rising and falling. His fingers take hold of Harry’s hair and he tugs until the boy lifts his head. Without question, without anything really, like he knows what Louis needs and wants, he surges forward, bringing their lips to a crushing kiss. Louis loses it. He can’t take the teasing any longer. It’s too much and not enough. 

“Harry, please…” he whimpers when they part, sounding pathetic and desperate. But he isn’t ashamed. Not one bit. He can’t. He is drowning and burning and drowning and burning. Sweat breaks out of his pores, dampening his heated skin. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, squirming underneath Harry’s bloodshot eyes which are narrowed in lust, inspecting each and every detail of Louis’ face as if he wants to memorise it. Louis in turn stares back, savouring the moment in which Harry’s large, warm hands find the curves of his waist again, stroking up and down as they maintain eye contact. It only lets oil drip into the open flame. Louis is that flame and he knows he will burn alive, mewling as Harry’s fingers dig into him. 

Louis shuts his eyes as Harry plants kisses along his collarbone, finding the sensitive spot on his Adam’s apple, and spoiling it with sweet care and attention. It’s what causes Louis to see stars although his eyes are still closed. The stars don’t stop appearing until Harry moves on to the side of Louis’ neck. His fingers creep lower and Louis stills and gasps quietly for air as they fight with the button of his trousers. A frown dips his eyebrows lower as he takes notice of the slight trembling of Harry’s hands and blinks at the boy whose face is set in deep concentration. 

A shiver wracks his body frame and he licks his lips, his hand catching Harry’s wrist, stopping him. Harry’s head snaps upward, his cheeks turning from pink to red. There is a glazed shine in his eyes, but he blinks out of it, his forehead puckered. 

“What?” he asks, exhaling breathlessly. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Louis shakes his head quickly. “No, of course not. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I just…” he trails off, taking Harry’s hand in his, interlocking their fingers and bringing the knot to his lips. He kisses each of Harry’s knuckles, his eyes staying on Harry. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with this still.” He feels Harry’s fingers shake on his lips and presses another kiss to his index. “We can stop,” he says, the words leaving his chest painfully as his dick protests in his pants, “or we can keep going. Whatever you want, babe.”

Harry’s shoulders sag in visible relief. He nods, although a tad hesitantly. 

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, seeking another confirmation in Harry’s gaze. “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.” 

“I want to though,” Harry says. “I meant what I said before, I want to make you feel good.” 

Louis considers him for a moment, trying to discover any trace of discomfort in his features. There might be a bit of shyness, but that’s different. He relaxes. "We can stop _ anytime _, okay Harry? Just say the word." 

Harry gives a dimpled smile and ruffles through his hair with a huffed chuckle. "I’m fine, just a bit nervous. That’s all, seriously. Thank you though… for like..." Apparently unable to find the right words to express himself, Harry stops trying, untangling their fingers and leaning forward to peck Louis’ nose. 

"You don’t have to say thank —" the rest of Louis’ sentence is kissed off his lips and so is every other protest. Harry moves his hand over his tummy, playing with the waistband of his pants before leaning back and licking his lips. 

“I know I don’t have to say it, but I still want to,” Harry says, locking his eyes with Louis and only letting his gaze flicker downward again as his fingers fiddle with the buttons of his trousers once more. 

Louis by all means can’t hold back a throaty chuckle as Harry pouts at him and widens his eyes in an adorable as fuck manner. “Lemme me help,” he murmurs, using both hands to unbutton his trousers. He lifts his bum off the ground, rolling them plus his pants down. His hard cock springs free, an angry red and already leaking pre-cum on his belly. Louis sucks in a hissed breath as it twitches and he feels already so much closer to relief. 

Harry licks his lips before biting down on his lower one and as Louis winds teasing fingers around himself, Harry bats his hand away. Louis smirks as Harry narrows his eyes. 

“Don’t,” he murmurs, sealing their lips for a quick peck. “I want to.” 

Louis swallows his reply of, _ ‘be my guest.’ _

Harry took his time before, but he isn’t wasting any more now, winding his fingers around Louis’ shaft and squeezing softly. Louis whimpers, low and needy, his former humour long but passed. Harry’s hand is rough and too dry and Louis’ dick is sensitive as he starts moving it up and down. 

"Gimme your hand," Louis mumbles and laughs lowly as Harry outstretches the wrong hand, the other still on Louis. “Not...no,” he shakes his head to his words, a smile playing around his lips, “the other, please.” 

He can see Harry is rather confused by his request but obeys a second later, withdrawing his hand and holding it near Louis’ chest like you would do for a handshake. His expression is still puzzled and fuck, it shouldn’t be so endearing, but it is. Like with everything, Harry is like a fresh breeze of wind in his life and his fondness for the boy is tickling his heart. 

Louis wraps his fingers lightly around Harry’s wrist and brings it to his lips, kissing the middle of his open palm. He smiles when Harry chuckles, his fingers twitching at the tender contact. 

He maintains eye contact with Harry as he licks slowly over his palm. Harry exhales softly and Louis can feel the shuddering of his body. "Now…" Louis nods, guiding Harry’s hand to his cock so his fingers are around the shaft again, his on top, guiding Harry along. This time goes much smoother and isn’t so harsh on his skin anymore. The spit mixed with his pre-cum makes a wet noise as Harry twists his wrist and out of Louis’ belly bursts a prolonged groan as he relaxes back on the ground. 

Harry is getting the hang out of it, growing more confident and thumbing over his sensitive, leaking slit. He sucks Louis’ high, needy whine into his mouth as their lips press together, Louis’ hand cupping Harry’s nape and both breathing out shakily through their noses. Louis pants as they break apart and Harry’s movements pick up pace. Louis’ legs tense and he gasps for air that just isn’t there even though they are outside.

His eyes roll back as Harry twists his wrist just _ so _ and he sees the beginning of fireworks behind his closed lids. The ball in his spine is building up, and his legs start trembling as his abs clench. 

"C’mere," Louis murmurs, bringing Harry’s lips to his. He jerks his hips upward as the heat grows, goosebumps rising on his arms. Harry sucks on his tongue before moaning with him as they part. Louis moves his mouth to Harry’s earlobe, grinding it softly between his teeth as Harry works on him. 

“Fuck…” Harry groans as the tip of Louis’ cock bumps into his stomach. His hand movement falters for a moment as Louis licks over his jawline, nibbling on fine skin. Then he moves his spine upright and Louis closes his eyes as Harry’s wrist starts twisting on his shaft, his thumb teasing the pulsing vein on the downside of his cock. 

His pants become more rapid, his chest heaving as an unbelievably strong pressure builds in his spine and his balls squeeze together. 

“I’m…” Louis loses track of what he wanted to verbalise, “I…fuck,” he gasps, blinking his lids open. It’s a mistake - he locks gazes immediately with Harry, who looks like a dream materialised in front of him. His green eyes are shades darker, a blush is colouring his cheeks red, and his hair is a mess from the way Louis’ fingers destroyed it. It pushes Louis right over the edge and his jaw slackens as his hips jerk into Harry’s touch, losing control as he chases bittersweet relief. Harry holds his hand still as Louis fucks himself with it and brings his free hand to Louis’ throat, cupping it and applying slight pleasure as Louis falls off the cliff and becomes a moaning, crying mess underneath him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Louis chants. His mind spins as for a second air is cut off and he is still falling, before hot cum splashes onto his chest, his balls pulsing and his heart hammering. 

It feels like he is held underwater, a deafening noise ringing in his ears. Everything feels distant, as if stolen from another moment before there are lips on his and a tongue sweeps over the outline of them, wiggling between the gap. Louis moans through his nose as Harry teases his tongue with his in one last swipe, then it’s gone and moved on to Louis’ neck. That’s when Louis finally steps down from heaven and finds Harry lazily sucking on the skin on his throat. 

He closes his eyes briefly as he swallows around nothing. His orgasmn felt like it had built up not only from just now but ever since Harry and Louis kissed for the first time. Everything after that has been long, endless foreplay. Push and pull. Close but never close enough. It was most definitely the most intense thing he has ever experienced. 

His body is lax on the grass as his lashes flutter open. He meets Harry’s eyes right away. 

Harry smiles at him, stroking his cheek and brushing his fringe off his forehead. 

"Amazing," Louis murmurs, lifting a weak hand to cup Harry’s neck, bringing their lips together for another open-mouthed kiss — lethargic and clumsy, too much spit, too much teeth, yet warm and cozy and tender and marvelous and — Louis sighs, letting go of Harry. The boy rolls off him and snuggles close, but before they can get a bit more comfortable, he twists to the side, snatching his shirt and rubbing it over his chest, wrinkling at the feeling and hoping it won’t be too visible on the white of his shirt. He should have worn a black one - Harry is right about that colour working best for clothes. Harry snorts when they inspect the shirt and huh yeah, there are dark moist spots on it. Louis sticks out his tongue and flings it to the side. It’s not like he can save it anyway, so whatever. Next he sits, arches his back on the ground and rolls his trousers up, tucking his dick in and out of sight. 

Finally, Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders, drawing him even closer to his side. He pecks his forehead, his breathing calm. He sighs into the night, watching as the moon shines down on them, and smiles. Then, he turns his head, burying his nose in Harry’s hair and inhaling deeply into his belly. Louis wants to savour this night, even the weird bits because after all it led them here. 

He cups Harry’s chin, lifting it a tad and giving him a close-mouthed kiss before opening his lips and biting at Harry’s lower lip. He moves on top of Harry with their mouths still connected, balancing himself on his knees so he doesn’t fall forward and supporting his weight on his fists to the left and right of Harry’s head. 

"Lemme…" Louis whispers against Harry, kissing down his neck, nuzzling his damp skin and licking a line to his ear before nibbling on his Adam’s apple. “Can I?” Louis asks, tugging on the hem of Harry’s shirt. Harry nods and sits upright, allowing Louis to pull his black tee over his head. It joins Louis’ in a high thrown toss. 

Louis knew Harry had tattoos, of course, but he didn’t know that there were so many of them, all inked on his white skin. Two birds decorate the space below his collarbones, a massive butterfly is painted on the middle of his belly, and some sort of plant curls by his hips, left and right. It’s hot and Louis licks his lips. He only got around to considering tattoos a beautiful thing a while ago when his friend had gotten one himself and it kind of looked great, but this… well, Harry’s inked skin is… different. Even if Louis wasn’t a fan before, he surely would have been taken with it now. He traces the outline of the butterfly and Harry shivers slightly. Every single tattoo fits Harry. They look random but also not random at all, like Harry was born with them already coloured on his skin. 

“You like them?” Harry asks, his gaze following Louis’ finger circling around the wings. 

“I do,” he says in awe, smiling at Harry. “They look great on you.” 

They wouldn’t work on anyone else. 

It’s Harry and Harry’s only. 

Harry returns his smile, if a bit more bashfully, his cheeks blushing as he brushes his curls back and out of his face. “Thanks.” 

Louis pulls himself out of his exploration and pushes softly against Harry’s chest for him to lay down again. When he does, Louis moves to his neck, nibbling again. He feels Harry relax underneath him. 

As his fingers wander over his chest, his eyes flicker up, checking on the boy. 

Harry has his eyelids closed, his lips agape and there is no sign of any distress — good, that’s perfect. 

Louis breathes a bit easier and a rope unties itself from around his heart. He kisses a trail from Harry’s throat to his sternum, swirling his tongue around his nipple. Harry’s stomach muscles clench under his palms and a tiny moan leaves his mouth. 

It spurs Louis on to be more brave and he plants little pecks on the butterfly, nosing along its wings as he switches between sucking, licking, and kissing Harry’s tender skin. Made even more brave by the angelic sounds that leave Harry’s lips and the way he is fisting the grass, he moves lower, teasing around his belly button and breathing a raspberry kiss on the wet spot he left behind. It makes Harry shiver and Louis smile. He swallows, again, letting his glance sneak up to Harry’s face. 

When there still isn’t any sign of discomfort and Harry’s muscles work under his tongue, he licks a line to the waistband of his trousers before nibbling on the V-line on Harry’s hips, his hands stroking Harry’s thigh. 

As he unbuttons his jeans though, a hand stops him and Louis blinks up at Harry, sweeping his head to the side to get his hair out of his eyes. 

"It’s… I’m good," Harry murmurs, blinking rapidly as if to clear his vision. 

Louis’ eyebrows twitch. Licking his lips, he says, "It’s fine. Seriously, H, I want to—" 

"I know," Harry interrupts and swallows, his fingers squeezing around Louis’ wrist. "You… no," he says, staring into the sky. His chest expands with a sharp inhale. "I don’t — I can’t." Harry ruffles his hair, his legs tense underneath Louis. “I’m- I’m sorry, Louis…”

Louis bites his the inside of his cheek as Harry covers his face with his elbow. Slowly, his heart sinks to the bottom of his belly. “Did I force myself onto you?” he asks what is looming over his head, holding his breath as he awaits the answer that will surely end him completely. He couldn’t handle it. He’d break. 

Harry shakes his head, still hiding behind his arm. 

He releases a muted sigh of relief. That’s good, okay… okay… 

Nothing is good. His heart throbs. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Louis says, getting off Harry and kneeling by his side, his thighs stretching as his heels dig into his jeans. “It’s fine, Harry,” he adds. He makes a move to uncover his face, but changes his mind last second and instead scratches the back of his neck. 

It feels like an eternity passes before Harry brings his arm down. Louis’ entire being is engulfed in sheer alarm as he notices that tears have swelled in his eyes. 

Harry gives a tiny, one-shoulder shrug. "It’s not that I don’t want you to, I just…" His eyes flicker to the side, and he blinks tears away. Louis’ heart clenches painfully. "I just. Can’t." Harry grinds his teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He winds his arms around his own middle as if to hold himself together. 

"Harry…” Louis whispers brokenly, hating to see him like that and thinking he has caused this kind of reaction again. It was never, ever his intention, just like the other time. “It’s… it’s okay, it’s more than okay. It’s fine,” he swallows, repeating it because he can’t help himself, doesn’t know how to make it better for Harry. “It’s fine, Harry. Baby, you’re good. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, alright?" 

Harry nods, still having his head turned away from Louis. His chest heaves. "Thank you." 

"Of course." 

For a moment, Louis doesn’t know what to do, where to move to, whether Harry doesn’t want him near at all or if it’s just a no-go to touch him below the waistline. Does he want to stay or rather go home? Too many questions for his mushed mind to process. 

"Can I hold you?" Louis murmurs in a small voice. 

Harry rolls his head, looking at Louis. "Please," he whimpers, opening his arms. Louis nuzzles close to him, burying his nose in his hair and breathing in the familiar scent before sighing and dropping a careful, quick kiss onto Harry’s naked shoulder. Harry draws him closer, one hand stroking Louis’ back. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Louis asks, laying his hand hesitantly on Harry’s butterfly. Harry’s other hand comes up to cover it and Louis relaxes a bit more. He chews anxiously on his bottom lip as he peeks at Harry through his lashes. 

Harry sighs. "I… no, I can’t. It’s really nothing personal against you or anything, but I just—" 

"I understand," Louis murmurs, his eyebrows pulling together because he doesn’t get it at all. In a way, he feels dirty as if he used Harry for his own benefit since he couldn’t finish Harry off… it’s just wrong, and he doesn’t like it. "Are you going to tell me one day?" 

Harry nods and that must be enough for Louis. 

One step at a time. 

* * * 

Going home is harder than Louis thought would ever be possible. Harry doesn’t want Louis to get him off, sure, but it certainly seems like he is addicted to Louis’ lips. It’s clearly not confusing to Louis at all, the way one moment Harry will flinch away from his touch, wanting him to stop what they are doing, and then the next thing he knows Harry is hanging on him like a koala. Louis guesses just going with the flow is the best option in this case and doesn’t ask a single question, though he has to say he is relieved over the extreme mood swing upward, having guessed that Harry would shy away from him after they left the lake. 

As they make their way through the forest and saunter on the ill-lit path, surrounded by nothing but nature and silence, Harry slings him into a crushing embrace, walking them backwards to the nearest tree. He presses Louis’ back against the tree trunk, making Louis moan when he plants hard crushing kisses against Louis’ parted lips, his hands roaming greedily over Louis’ body, cupping his arse and pulling their chests flush to one another. 

"Harry…" Louis murmurs, doesn’t know himself if it’s a plea or a warning. He doesn’t want it to get too heated, but doesn’t want it to stop either. He’s in a right zone here - every move could be the wrong one.

"Shhh," Harry shushes, sinking his teeth so hard into his skin that Louis draws in a breath in arousing pain, which stutters in his chest as he hits the back of his head against the bole. 

Louis swallows thickly, fisting some of Harry’s curls and pulling. Harry exhales a shaky chuckle as his hips jerk forward and Louis smirks before licking over Harry’s lips and sucking his bottom one into his mouth. He softly bites down and can’t help but feel a bit of pride when Harry gives an involuntary shiver against him. 

“Fuck…” Harry moans, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Louis’ neck, his upper body weight supported by Louis’ chest and arms around him. “Let’s get you home.” 

Yeah, right… that’s what they were doing. It must be early morning by now, not that Louis minds. 

They get going again, hand in hand, though they stop another time for more kisses and bites. By the end when the forest lightens and the dirty road comes in sight, their skin is red and their lips are swollen and raw, but their chests are lighter than before when the events took a turn. No more traces of that are left when Louis studies Harry’s side profile. He still wonders...

"Do you want to sleep over?" Louis asks, not wanting to let go of him just yet. He tugs Harry in the direction of the driveway. 

Harry grins, letting go of Louis’ hand in favour of squeezing his bum, pressing his chest against his back and kissing his exposed neck. "Of course I want to, silly," he murmurs, clutching his tensing cheeks. 

Louis wants to moan but represses it as they near the gate. Their steps slow. 

The house lays silently before them without any lights on. The cars are parked in the driveway and the barn looks eerie set in the shadows, the sinking moon only causing it to look even creepier. Louis shivers, recalling the smell that clung to the insides of the barn and the high taunting laugh that rang all around him. 

Harry intertwines their fingers and leads them to the front steps. "Did you clear things up with your mum?" he asks as Louis fiddles with the keys. Lately his key ring has grown so much that it has become an annoying weight in his back pocket or jacket. 

"Nope, still avoiding each other," Louis smiles tightly at Harry, the right key clenched in his hand. 

"Hmm…" Harry pouts, cocking his head to the side, eyes deep in thought. "I’m sure she’ll come around. You didn’t do anything wrong." 

Louis shrugs and unlocks the door. The entryway is dark. Louis steps inside and presses his index to his lips, signalling to Harry to be quiet. He really doesn’t want to run into Matt with a cum-stained shirt and love bites still aching on his exposed neck. 

Harry nods and they both sneak up the stairs, breathing relieved sighs when they close Louis’ bedroom door behind them. 

"I’ll talk to her," Harry says suddenly, startling Louis. 

"What?" Louis’ forehead wrinkles at that. "What about?" 

He pulls his shirt off, tossing it onto the armchair and kicking his way out of his jeans and pants. He really would like a shower - seriously is in need of one too - but it’s late and he’s tired and Harry is here so in the morning… in the morning he will bear showering in that bathroom with the creepy light. Remembering that evening, he shuts his brain up and pulls on fresh pants. 

"About you, about the situation. I’ll apologise to her," Harry says. He, too, is peeling himself out of his shirt. It joins Louis’ clothes on the armchair and for a moment Louis stares at it. He never noticed — they have done it before, but… it seems so normal for them to just… do that. Put their clothes in the same place like they belong together and mixed. He is so hung up about that little fact that he nearly forgets Harry was talking. 

He blinks at the boy, scratching behind his ear. "Uh, you want to do _ what _ now?" 

"I want to apologise to your mum, and Matt," Harry nods, crawling into bed. He angles his knees towards his chest as he slips his legs beneath the duvet. "I really feel awful about it. It was meant as a joke..." When he sees Louis’ expression at his choice of words, he backtracks. “I mean, not as a joke, just… as nothing, really. I thought… I didn’t, well, you know…” he ends lamely with a huff. “I’m still sorry about that.”

Louis has already told him his thoughts on it, so he merely shrugs. It happened, it’s over, and they can’t change the past, so there is that. "Nothing can be done about it now. The cat is out of the bag. I’m the cat." 

Harry chuckles, sobering rather quickly though. "C’mere," he pats the mattress beside him. 

Louis slips under the covers and their bodies find each other like puzzle pieces. Harry draws his arm around Louis’ shoulder as Louis winds his arm around Harry’s middle, both pulling the other closer until there is no air between where their bodies meet. 

It’s nice. Louis sighs. 

"I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m tired," Louis mumbles, his eyes drooping, too comfortable. Also, it was quite an eventful night. 

"Good night," Harry kisses his forehead and Louis kisses a random part of him for which he doesn’t have to lift his head. "Thanks for tonight." 

"Hmm…" Louis hums, his usual protest on his tongue but his lips useless, not letting him speak his mind. "Don’t…" is all he gets out before silence and peace overcomes him. He feels safe in Harry’s arms and lets go without fear of what he will see when he falls asleep. 

* * * 

There is one thing that makes Louis the biggest fool in this world, and that is believing himself to be safe from his night troubles when Harry is next to him on the mattress, snuggled close and breathing in and out deeply. So far nothing has ever had happened when the boy held him in his arms at night. So far Louis guessed his mind felt too peaceful and happy to spit out any horror scenario in that kind of state. And that makes him a fool, an idiot. Stupid. Fuck. 

Louis gets pulled out of his slumber by noise and light padding footsteps. Both are too familiar by now for his liking, yet a part of his brain is still confused, half-asleep at best. He snuggles closer to Harry, seeking body heat and support, wanting to go slip back into safety and fall asleep another round. 

However, it’s not working and though he has his eyelids pinched shut, he can feel another presence by his bedside, his back tingling with nerves. The urge to roll around gets stronger by the second and that also wakes up his brain completely until he is wide awake and there is no other thing to do than turn on the mattress and peek at the girl through his only half-opened lashes. 

Tonight, like any other night, she is standing by his bedside, maintaining intense eye contact as a small smile curls the corners of her mouth, the right part of her face hidden in the shadows as the other glows in the moonshine. Although this has happened time and time before, it still has the effect of sending a wave of shock through his body. No matter how many nights she has woken him up and no matter how many nights she will in the future, it won’t ever be less scary. His fine arm hair raises. 

As always, she is silent. As always, she is stretching out her hand. 

What has never happened before is, when Louis wants to take it in his, guessing there is no way around it but leave the warmth of his duvet, his body freezes as if someone has dumped an ice bucket over his head. 

In her palm is a knife. 

The reflection of the moon blinds his eyes in the dark. His gaze darts from the knife slowly back to her, his mind reeling with questions and questions and questions. Still, he knows tonight, like any other night, she won’t talk and none of them will be answered. 

A lump lodges his throat as his heart rate picks up. Is this the end? Has she come to kill him? 

Her fingers wrap around the shaft of the knife tightly. It looks big in her tiny hand, dangerous. Straight out of a horror movie. 

A kid with a knife is no good combination and he doesn’t know what to do — he can’t tackle a child, he can’t hurt a child. If it comes to it, there is no chance for him to defend himself. None. _ Nada _.

Yet, she doesn’t make a move though she literally has him defeated before any fight could break out. If she would surge the knife forward, it’d go right through his throat. If she would like to stab his eye, she could do that too. He is frozen in place. The knowledge that Harry is behind him and deep asleep is sending his nervous system up in fire and smoke. 

She stares. He stares back. 

No breath leaves his lips or nose. His heart is sitting on his collarbone like an added pressure that is keeping him on the mattress. Fear springs loose in his belly and eats his voice, tying his tongue in a knot. He can’t even scream for help. 

Louis has no idea how much time has passed, but at one point, her creepy slow smile drops from her lips and she holds her index finger to her mouth, signaling Louis to be quiet even though he hasn’t said anything. 

Slowly, she reaches out her free hand, inviting him for another adventure to the barn. He knows if he doesn’t obey her, something worse than this might happen. After all, she has brought the knife for a reason. 

Fine. Fine. Okay. Fine. 

If he is smart, he can turn this situation around. He just has to get her out of his room. With a careful movement, he sits up and throws a glance over his shoulder, checking on Harry. He is still asleep, his hair covering the side of his face. He is out like a light. That’s good, yes. That’s brilliant. Okay. Okay… 

Louis takes her hand and comes to stand. She intertwines their fingers directly and tugs him along, walking a bit ahead of him as always, the knife held at stomach height. Where their skin is connected, numbness spreads, causing his arm to feel heavy. Her grip is hard. 

To his horror, they don’t leave his room. No… no. They don’t. 

His steps falter as he notices what she wants to do, where she wants him to go, where she wants him to follow her. 

They round the bed. 

They are at Harry’s bedside. 

Louis’ heart sits in his head.

His eyes flicker from her to Harry and back. 

A pout tugs on the corners of her mouth as she watches Harry sleep for a moment, then her intense gaze finds his and Louis knows now for what the knife is meant for — her eyes are telling him, plus the way she has turned to Harry, the way she is holding the knife directed at the boy. 

Louis’ mind is set aflame as fear breaks out of his pores. He squeezes her hand, trying to stop her from doing whatever she is going to do. She smiles, their arms brushing as they stand side by side looking at the sleeping boy. 

He doesn’t understand _ why _. This girl is a right mystery for him. A big puzzle, which he is trying frantically to solve in the dark room. 

She nods with another creepy - so fucking _ creepy _ \- smile, gesturing to Harry’s sleeping figure as if to say, _ ‘go on’ _ and hands him the knife. He takes it willingly, breathing in relief when his fingers wrap around the slick shaft. It is heavier than expected. 

It’s over. He has the knife, and she can’t hurt Harry. It’s fine. His heart can calm down. It’s over. 

But it isn’t. 

His eyes move to the girl and she nods like her neck is broken, a happy smile planted on her thin lips. 

Wait. 

His gaze flickers to Harry and it hits him right in the gut, his heart beating so loudly in his ears that it consumes him fully. 

The girl wraps her tiny fingers around Louis’ wrist in which he holds the knife and points at it to Harry. 

She nods towards Louis, _ encouraging _. 

"What…" 

So many times, he has thought he was dreaming when she’d enter his room and bring him to the barn. However, tonight doesn’t feel like a dream, or like a nightmare. It feels real, from the weight in his hand to the way sweat builds a second skin around his neck. It’s too damn real and it cannot be happening. 

As she notices the change in him, her forehead wrinkles and her eyes are two angry beams. Her other hand comes to support their knot around the knife. She is too strong for her age. Louis wants to rip it out of her hand, untangle their mess but her grip is cold and hard just like her petite face. His eyes land on their hand and only at this moment he notices with another heavy flutter of panic that the knife isn’t directed at Harry, but at his own chest. 

A wave of shock overcomes him. His legs start to tremble. 

"Please don’t…" Louis whimpers, "don’t hurt us, please. Please, please…" 

She is too strong, too fucking strong. She presses all her body weight into it and the sharp point of the blade touches the middle of his sternum. It sends shivers all over his body as panic breaks free and he yelps as she suddenly launches forward. They collide with the floor and his head bangs against the hard ground. 

His eyes shut and he hisses at the booming pain that zips from the base of his skull to his jawline and down his spine. 

She touches his cheek, but her hand has somehow grown larger. Louis opens his lashes and stares not into the little girl’s face, but Harry’s, although it’s a bit swimmy in his vision. He blinks rapidly to clear it, pain throbbing. 

"L-Louis?" he asks, looking very confused, very scared. "Louis, can you hear me?" 

Louis nods and hisses as another wave of suffering crushes his head. Fuck, he hopes she didn’t brain him. It sure feels like it. 

"Lemme help you up," Harry murmurs and pulls him against his chest. Together, they clamber to their feet and sway in place as Louis loses his balance. "What happened?" Harry asks as Louis sinks onto the mattress, rubbing the back of his head. The pounding moves all around his face, causing the fine veins in his temples to lift and rise. 

He can’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t understand. Slowly, he glances around the room. There is no little girl in sight. He checks the floor for a knife, but there is none.

"Were you sleepwalking again?" Harry kneels in front of him. 

"Yes…" Louis breathes, ignoring the doubting part of his brain that tells him it wasn’t a dream, it felt too close to reality. His hand still feels the weight of the knife, cold in his palm. 

But — what exactly would that mean? That a girl breaks into their house at night to… what? Spook Louis? What does she have to do with the barn? And if she isn’t real and there isn’t a girl sneaking into the house to pull some sort of… prank, does that mean Louis is crazy? Having visions? Just like the time he saw her at the river, picking flowers, he just knows she was there. He wasn’t sleepwalking. Where is the knife though? What about this girl? He hasn’t seen her ever in his life so how could she manifest in front of him? Why did she want to kill him? He isn’t depressed and he sure as hell wouldn’t hurt Harry… 

So that offers two options: he’s suffering from a mental illness that causes visions or there is an actual girl saying _ hello _ in the most creepy way possible. 

"Tell me what happened. You seem really…" Harry stops and purses his lips, his eyes taking in each inch of Louis’ face.

Louis doesn’t want to admit his thoughts out loud and shrugs.

"Should I get you a glass of water?" 

"No!" Louis nearly shouts, his eyes widening as his hand catches Harry. 

Harry blinks at him with equally wide eyes. 

"Please stay." 

The boy nods slowly. "Alright. What else can I do to help you through this?" 

Louis doesn’t know. He gives another helpless shrug and Harry sighs. "Lets go to bed, Lou. I’ll stay awake," Harry murmurs, standing up straight. 

"Don’t, Harry, you don’t have to do that." 

"If it’d make you feel safer, keep nightmares away and the sleepwalking. When I’m awake, I can wake you up." 

Louis crawls slowly back into bed and lays on his side, his head pounding like hell. He really needs painkillers, but going to the bathroom would mean leaving Harry, leaving this room, and sending Harry would mean being alone. See, nothing works, so he just has to endure it. He grinds his teeth. 

"I’ll rub your shoulders until you fall asleep, deal?" Harry smiles, kissing his nose. 

"You don’t have—" 

"I know," Harry rolls his eyes. "I know I don’t have to. I really want to though. Turn around." 

Louis does and his eyelids flutter as Harry’s strong hands start to massage over the tight knots of the muscles in his back and shoulders, kneading the nightmare and fear right out of him. It feels so good, so close to relief. Harry’s hands send shivers of warm pleasure over his skin and his heart mewls at the touch. He only concentrates on that as he stares ahead. 

As Harry rubs his body, slowly and carefully, he blinks into the darkness, holding his breath. This feeling in his belly, in his chest, all those tingles and little stars and booms and bangs, it’s more than desire. It’s more than simply adoring the boy behind him. It’s more, and when Louis finally falls asleep, he thinks to himself, this is what love feels like…

  
  


* * * 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! this was a long, long chapter. I hope you had fun reading it!! If so, kudos and comments are always very, very welcome (pls talk to me lol haha). Things are tightening up, I guess, so there is a big storm coming...soon. 
> 
> I wish you guys an wonderful, relaxed weekend. 28 days until walls, ahhh!! :') x


	9. CHAPTER NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I am so so so sorry that it took me ages to upload chapter 9, but University started for both, me and my lovely beta and everything is kind of hectic. I hope you guys are still interested where this story is going. I just want to mention again, that this fic is already written and I update as my beta is editing, so don't worry, there is no way in hell i will let this fic die or anything. Thank you again for your patience, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Happy reading!! xxx

* * * 

Louis’ life has always been alright, really. 

His biological father left shortly after Lottie’s birth, but honestly, besides a few visits on Christmas, birthdays, and sometimes Sunday roasts throughout Louis’ childhood, he can’t quite picture his father as… well, as his  _ actual _ father. There have always been other men in his life who took over the role for a while until they faded from it, too, and a short while later a new face would be introduced. 

He wasn’t really bothered by any of it because he had his mother and his sister, both of whom he loves with every beat of his heart. Louis grew up with friends, never alone, never lonely, never needing a father figure. His mother’s coworker, a male nurse with a soft smile and fairy tale stories, was a constant in his life which only ended when Louis moved to Bristol to build a life of his own. 

In Bristol, life was greater than ever because he met Niall, Perrie, Stan, and Jade. He adores them dearly and considers them a part of his family now. 

It didn’t take long for the gigs to start and university take off, his time filled with a blur of studying, practice, people, and music. It’s his happy place. He loves university because he loves music. Deciding to study his passion was one of his best decisions in life. 

Coming out to his family was easy as well, and finding his first boyfriend was too. Easy, nice, lovely, and new. 

His bond with his mum and sister is strong despite the distance. He and Jay would talk on the phone every Tuesday and Thursday and he texts his sister nonstop most days until their FaceTime calls on Sundays. 

This all leads to Louis having a nice life, a fine life, a kind of easy life — he’s a good student, has great friends and an awesome family… he never stood under a lot of stress. Even when there was a lot going on with school and music and friends and love, it was a positive stress. Most nights, Louis fell asleep with a smile and happy thoughts and a warm feeling in his stomach because he likes waking up in the morning and enjoying whatever might come. If there is a bad day, Niall makes it better, and if it’s not him, it’s his mum. If it’s not her, it’s Lottie, and if she can’t fix it then… well, there is alcohol and music and a few days later Louis is back on the happy track. 

However, lately he feels like he is losing it, as if all of the fine things he had earlier in life have run out. His happy time is over and hell has come to get him with bottled up anger that it unloads on him all at once. 

The sleepwalking, the girl, the lights going on and off, the locked door, his mother’s coldness towards him, Matt, being away from Niall and his friends, the gruffness of the townsfolk... everything is confusing It’s too much to handle and he feels trapped in a tight place as if he dared to move, he’d make it worse. 

He can’t talk to his mother because she is already worried about him. Telling her that he isn’t sleepwalking, but seeing little girls at night would buy him a ticket to the psych ward. Not telling her is just as bad because he doesn’t know what to do or how to fix it. Harry is a help but not really, because Louis still keeps sleepwalking, though not to the barn anymore… it’s even worse. 

When Harry sleeps over, the girl leads him to his boy, again with a fucking  _ knife _ like she’s on  _ American Psycho  _ and points at Harry first, then afterwards at Louis. Every  _ dream… vision… situation _ ends with her being angry because he just won’t murder Harry nor kill himself. It only gets scarier the more she pops up in his room with the knife — Louis fears one night he won’t be strong enough and hurts one of them by accident. Harry keeps rubbing his back and some nights it works wonders and Louis wakes up and feels relaxed and warm next to his sleeping angel, but on the other nights it just doesn’t and he lays wide awake after it has happened and doesn’t dare to close his eyes. It causes him to be mostly cranky during the following day and adds a suffocating pressure to his overall misery.

It’s always the same. The girl comes. A knife is pressed into Louis’ hand. They wrestle around. Louis falls. The girl vanishes. Harry leans over him. They go to bed. Harry massages him until he eventually falls asleep. 

If Harry isn’t around, Louis has nightmares or sleepwalks to the barn himself, standing there next to the girl. She points, and he has no idea what’s going on — what she wants, what’s real or what isn’t. Then he wakes on the lawn and slips upstairs. Sometimes he has to vomit, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes there is that rattling sound that he and the little girl are scared of and those are the worst nights because in the darkness of the barn, Louis feels utterly helpless and frightened. One morning he woke up with a scratch over his face. He guessed he must have done it himself as he tried to fight the shadow of his dreams. 

Never in his life he has been under so much stress and yet it feels like nothing around him is actually happening. 

Jay and Matt are usually gone working. Harry comes over and they will sing together and work on Louis’ guitar skills. The house is too silent when Louis is completely alone. He has lost all of his appetite and only nibbles at some food when Harry forces him to. He doesn’t see his mother because now he is probably avoiding her more than she is him. She has tried to reach out a few times but Louis can’t talk to her now — he’d spill his guts and she’d send him away and he wouldn’t be able to return to Bristol and get away from this ongoing drama and big, fat mess. 

Bristol is  _ another _ stress factor because his heart is torn about that, too. It’d mean he would have to leave Harry. Honestly, saying goodbye to Harry when he isn’t sleeping over is already hard and his heart stings with sadness as they kiss for the last time. So, how could he handle being such a distance away from the boy who holds his heart in his hands? Because it’s true, in all this unruly mess, he has found Harry and fallen for him so hard that his heart breaks every time he closes his eyes and the mattress is empty next to him. Harry can’t come with him to Bristol. Louis can’t force him so he himself is forced to come back here in this house and hopefully when winter break comes and he returns, he won’t be suffering from any sort of troubled nightmares. 

Perhaps he can change Harry’s mind now that the boy has gotten kind of obsessed with Louis’ life in Bristol. He wants to see pictures, every video Louis has saved either on his phone or computer, and he wants to know all about Niall and his other friends, wants Louis to describe his flat to him in detail, and tell him stories about his best to worst drunken nights out. Louis thinks Harry just wants to feel a part of Louis’ life that way and it hurts seeing Harry so keen to know what it feels like to live in Bristol yet hesitating when the offer for a visit comes up. But Louis is optimistic — a firm  _ no _ became a soft spoken  _ maybe _ and a  _ maybe _ is only one step away from a  _ yes _ . 

Anyway, as Louis showed Harry pictures, sliding his thumb over the screen, they came to an end and the last taken picture sprung basically in Louis’ face like a punch to his jaw:  _ the symbol. _ He had taken the picture in the barn when he started sleepwalking and discovered it under the moulded hay. 

Now he is staring at it again, his brows pulled together as he strains his brain to think if he ever saw it in a history book or if it was shown to the class at one of the lectures back in college. He always comes up empty but it doesn’t stop him from trying to figure it out. Deep down in his bones, he has the feeling that the symbol will be the puzzle piece which is going to solve the mystery of what is going down. 

It sounds stupid. Harry has scoffed more than once at the idea, but Louis just… he has to hope, alright? And the symbol is the only thing that has materialised from it all since the little girl hasn’t shown her face during the day another time. He sent the symbol to Niall even and got nothing useful in return only more questions that Niall has himself. Lottie isn’t much more help — she just said,  _ 'ask google, you idiot'. _ When Louis did end up browsing the web, he found a lot of fucking symbols from The Star of David to Wicca, which is a religion of its own, related to witches and witchcraft and is still in practice nowadays it seems like. Then it spit out Satanism — which  _ no thanks, he’ll pass _ — but thankfully the symbol wasn’t found on any of the pages Louis looked at, lucky, lucky. Last but not least and definitely not helpful:  _ sigils _ . These are a word or sentence transformed into a symbol and each is unique, made for a purpose. They are also very much used in witchcraft and Wicca and Louis really didn’t want to know all that but that’s what he got anyway. 

"What could you mean?" Louis asks the picture, squinting his eyes at it. " _ What do you mean? _ " 

It doesn’t give him an answer. 

To each question must be an answer, otherwise the question wouldn’t exist in the first place. Yet the picture seems to mock him, taunt him, laugh at him. 

_ Oh, you can’t figure me out,  _ it says. 

And — Louis stops right there because his mind is wandering in a weird direction. 

He presses the home button and locks his phone, letting it bounce on the mattress next to him. Closing his eyelids, he presses his fingertips in each socket and lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

He is bloody tired. He hasn’t eaten anything today and it’s already late afternoon. Harry will be coming around in an hour and he promised to bring food. They planned another jamming session together, this time practicing  _ Thinking Out Loud  _ by Ed Sheeran. On any other day Louis would be hyped about it, but today his body is too exhausted and he guesses they will just watch  _ Daredevil _ on Netflix and call it a night. 

There is a soft knock on the door and Louis’ lips curl upward. "Come in!" he calls, fussing with his fringe quickly because he probably looks a disaster,  _ fuck _ , he shouldn’t have wasted so much bloody time on the internet. 

His lips turn upside down when it’s not Harry who stands in the doorway, but his mum. 

"Oh…" he straightens his shoulders, an awkward feeling settling in his stomach. 

"Can we talk?" 

Louis’ eyebrows tilt upward. 

"I mean, are you busy?" 

"Harry is coming in a bit," Louis replies and pulls on his neckline. As she turns to leave, the awkwardness become heavy, gut-wrecking guilt. "Wait. Come in, let's talk. I’m just surprised," —  _ because it’s been so long since we exchanged a single goddamn word  _ — "I thought I was alone. You guys work an awful lot…" 

She smiles and crosses the room, taking a careful seat on Louis’ desk chair and smoothing her summer dress over her thighs. "We sorted the business. He has some men now. Calls are coming in all the time." 

Louis nods. "That’s good, cool. I’m happy business is going well." 

"It’s a start." Jay tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "How are you darling?" 

He shrugs. "Good… I’m fine." 

She nods.

They sit in silence. Louis doesn’t know where to look.

"Would you like to eat dinner with us tomorrow night?" she blurts out. 

Louis blinks, hating the way they are so damn apprehensive around each other. He wonders why she is  _ that _ on edge though. She is his mother, she has a right to be mad at him for basically nothing — that’s how mum’s usually work, right?  _ You didn’t do the dishes — I’m mad. You didn’t call your aunt — I’m mad. You forgot to get the meat out of the freezer — well… I’m mad. _ Mums just have the right, it’s a law.

Yet she is nervous. Not mad,  _ nervous _ . About what? Talking to him? Why? Perhaps because they have never had a falling out. Neither of them know how to act and that shows when her eyes fix on the floor and Louis stares out of the window. 

"I would like that," Louis replies quietly, glancing at her. 

"Okay, I’ll let Matt know. He… has something to tell you. We both do, actually." 

"Are you guys getting married?" he grins, momentarily forgetting everything and quirking a single eyebrow at his mother. 

She cracks a smile. "Surprise." 

They laugh quietly for a second and as they sober, it seems like the air between them has cleared and awkwardness has left through the open balcony door. 

Jay sighs. "I’ll leave you alone then. I’m sure you have to get ready for when Harry comes." She sends a very pointed look at his hair and he pouts. "We’ll go out for dinner tonight after work with some of our workers, so you guys will have the house to yourselves." 

Louis nods, then stands up and hugs her because hell, he missed her. She embraces him wholeheartedly and both are teary-eyed when they part. 

"Have fun with Harry." She strokes his cheek, her own stretched with a smile. In her eyes, there is a bit more life than there was before. 

"Thanks, have fun with all those buffi-buff men." 

She rolls her eyes. He mimics her and they share a quiet smile. 

A moment later, she flows out of the room, the scent of her familiar perfume left behind. Louis breathes in deeply, smiling still. It doesn’t last. All at once it hits him and he frowns, his smile dropping. 

About  _ what _ exactly do they want to talk to him? 

Oh fuck… 

* * *

Time flies by. 

Sunday morning comes knocking on his door in the form of anxiety. The moment he wakes up from his few hours of sleep, a ball of fear settles in his stomach and doesn’t leave him during the day. 

Harry is no help either. 

"Perhaps they’re giving you up for adoption?" he says, throwing a ball in the air and catching it. "Or they want you to get a haircut. I mean I like how it is now, don’t get me wrong, but I can barely see your eyes with that fringe." Harry throws the ball again and Louis tracks the motion like a cat would do, before his eyes snap to Harry’s face, which is set in a bored, unimpressed mask. "Maybe they’ve re-joined the church and want to lure you in too? I mean, could be a possibility, right?" 

Louis shuts his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and lowers himself on the armchair with a prolonged sigh. Harry’s suggestions and guesses only get worse from there. 

"Oh, I know! They want to sell you. Maybe that’s why they wanted you to come visit in the first place. Louis, I think I’m onto something." 

_ Then _ — 

"No… maybe Matt has a drug addiction and that’s why they need to sell you!" 

_ And _ — 

"Maybe they are now so worried about you that they already got you a room at the psych ward! That’s it, isn’t it? Fuck..." 

That is kind of the only real thing Harry has said so far and it makes Louis send him the darkest glower he can, because he has been thinking about that too. It could be that dinner is just a way to bring up the news gently. 

However, all Louis has to say to Harry’s guesses is: " _ Fuck no, shut up, please.”  _

Harry never does. 

Somehow, thinking of the worst outcomes of Louis’ family dinner has become a game to him. He isn’t shy to dig deeper into the roots of human trafficking, drug addiction, and psych wards, even going so far as to do some research on Louis’ computer and listing every fact he can find. 

Louis knows — uh, at least,  _ hopes _ he knows — that Harry is simply joking and it’s his unique way of bringing light into the whole thing, to let Louis’ fear subside. After all, they both are very much aware that his parents definitely aren’t looking to sell him on eBay nor is Matt a drug addict. About the psych ward… well he is of age, they can’t just commit him to an institution like that, right? Harry’s research finds that even if he were held somewhere, it could only be short-term if it’s against his will. He is not suicidal nor does he suffer from another mental disorder — eh, that is he  _ aware _ of anyway. 

A lot must have happened for his parents to make that decision. Louis believes that if he talked to his mother in private, she’d know right away that he is fine, he’s  _ handling _ it. Perhaps losing a bit of sleep here and there and waking up on the grounds, but the knife isn’t real and nobody can commit anyone for nightmares and a bit of sleepwalking. 

However, now it’s Sunday and he is going to find out in a handful of hours. The moment he comes back from showering after his run with Liam, he sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and Harry’s words ringing in his ears. There is too much time until supper, which goes too fast and yet drags too slowly. The waiting is filled with more and more horror scenarios. One time it got so bad he was already halfway to the door, ready to slip downstairs and just shake his mother’s shoulder and say,  _ 'tell me, finally, please, I can’t stand it anymore' _ . But at last he turned around, sat back on the bed and as his gaze fell onto the guitar, he found some peace strumming chords and crooning his song for Harry softly under his breath.

It calms him right down, the melody filling out the empty space in his room until his heart isn’t racing in his chest anymore. Louis has been working on it when Harry isn’t around and has gotten pretty far ahead. Sleepless nights are good for something at least. 

" _ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile, _ " he sings, bobbing his head to the melody and drumming his thumb on the guitar in beat. " _ Whichever way the wind is blowing. I like the way this is going. _ " He strums a few more chords, closing his eyes tight. " _ I like the colour of your hair, I think we make a handsome pair, _ " — Inhale, exhale — " _ I can only see my… l-love growing… _ " he swallows thickly, his heart swelling, " _ I like the way this is going. _ " 

He strokes his guitar a few times, chords up and down, repeating them over again, before opening his mouth to sing, "_I like to watch TV with you, there's really nothing I would rather do._" The line had come to him after Harry and Louis watched season two of _Daredevil_ and Harry’s eyes were glued to the screen as The Punisher finished off the prisoners. It was violent and epic — perhaps just Harry’s cup of tea. However, while Harry enjoys watching the show, Louis enjoys having Harry in his arms and watches him instead. "_Then maybe we can go to bed, get up and do it all again_."

That’s everything he has so far imprinted in his mind and inked on paper. The words fall easier from his lips as he finds his groove in his own written song. It’s not finished but… it’s going that way. He likes what he has so far — likes it very much, alright. 

At times he can’t hold it back — his excitement, that is. Mostly when Harry and Louis are laying outside sunbathing, sharing a pack of fags and neither one is saying a word because simply they don’t have to. The quietness is lovely, and Louis feels at ease. When he glances at Harry who has his eyes closed as his chest rises and falls in even deep breaths, Louis’ heart balloons. He is filled with the urge to tell him about the song, to fetch his guitar, to sit down and play it for Harry, craving a reaction, a smile — something, anything. But he stops himself every time, knowing he isn’t truly ready to share it yet, nor is it finished. 

_ Patience… patience _ , he keeps reminding himself and when Harry catches him looking, he smiles and gets a smile in return. Every time Harry asks,  _ 'what?'  _ Louis replies with,  _ 'nothing, I just kind of love this summer…'  _ and Harry agrees, kisses a part of him that is close and they fall silent for another half an hour. 

Louis starts from the first verse, trying the words out louder, bolder, and braver before he stops and purses his lips. He adores it, a lot. Just when he is about to go again from the top, a knock on his door interrupts him. 

He swallows a mouthful of nerves as Jay sticks her head into his room, her smile big and welcoming. It causes every thought, every fear, every single one of Harry’s wild guesses to vanish into thin air because this is his  _ mother. _ She raised him, she loves him, and she is the most supporting person in the entire universe. Of course she wouldn’t send him away like that, of course she wants him around, and of course…

_ Of course… she just wants the best for him.  _

Ugh.

Now what does  _ she _ think is best for him right now? 

"Hi," Louis smiles, putting the guitar next to him. He folds his hands in his lap. "What’s up?" 

"I was walking by and heard you playing," she says, coming in fully and closing the door softly behind her. "What song was that? I don’t think I have ever heard it before." 

"Oh, that…" Louis’ cheeks redden as a tingling sensation spreads over his neck and shoulders. He flicks his fringe to the side and rubs below his nose. "I… I kind of wrote that one myself." 

Her smile grows so wide that he can practically count each of her teeth. "I knew you had it in you, I’m so proud!" She comes over and ruffles through his hair. "Let me hear it." 

"It’s not finished." 

"I don’t care." 

Louis wrinkles his nose but nods, rubbing the back of his hand on his chin before taking the guitar back in its former position. His mother sits gingerly next to him and nods with encouragement as his eyes flicker to her nervously. 

He inhales a big breath into his chest and swallows before clearing his throat. His fingers start strumming the guitar on their own, finding the right chords with ease. He waits a few beats and misses the opening, but does it all over again. He opens his mouth and closes his eyes. 

His words shake a bit more due to nerves but as he continues crooning softly, they become stronger. His voice cracks at the end of  _ 'I like how this is going' _ as he knows the  _ 'my love is growing' _ part is right around the corner. His heart flutters as he sings the words and as he finishes, Louis is too scared to look to his mother, guessing she will put two and two together and figure it out easily who the song is about. 

"Oh darling," she gushes, drawing him into a side hug. "I love it, it sounds wonderful!" 

He relaxes against her body and sighs in relief. "Thank you, mum…" 

"It’s about this boy, Harry, isn’t it?" she asks, ruffling his hair. He rightens himself and averts his eyes to the ground, but a blush still is as daring as to steal itself on his cheeks and seals therefore the deal. She knows. Case closed. "It is," she coos knowingly, "that’s so sweet." 

Louis wrinkles his nose and he sends her a look. She shrugs, a wide grin still plastered on her face as if she won’t ever be able to stop stretching her lips upward. "He must be very special then," she says, rubbing over his shoulder blade. 

"If one person in this world is special, it’s Harry," Louis says, a grin forming on his lips. "I’d love to see inside his mind, see how it works, because sometimes I wonder…" 

Jay smiles, chuckling and brushing through his hair yet again as if she just can’t help herself. "Maybe ask him next time?" 

Louis chuckles, too, but less amused and more confused. "Eh, I mean, that’d be weird.  _ ‘Hey, I was wondering how your brain works… what do you think Harry?’ _ " 

"Yes, I mean not in that way. But maybe just ask how he comes to think of things the way he does." 

"Oh, that makes… more sense," Louis frowns to himself, pulling on his bottom lip. "Or maybe he doesn’t know either." 

Jay gives a simple shrug. "You have all the time in the world to find out." 

"Summer is ending soon." Saying it out loud sobers a bit of the happiness that had grown in his tummy, and he twists his lip. 

"Yes, but that doesn’t mean your… friendship," she raises her eyebrows in a dubious question as she says the word, "is over. Summer is ending, not the world, hun." She kisses his temple and gets up. "I’ll start on dinner, and you can practice some more, darling. Your song is lovely." 

* * * 

Though the conversation and renewed closeness with his mother earlier in the day had killed all of his nervousness, it comes back to life in full force as the smell of roast creeps into his room and causes his mouth to water. He hasn’t had a proper meal in a long time and the scent is delicious. His stomach growls in agreement and he closes his notebook. He had written some more lines for Harry’s song which came to him as he lazily played around on his guitar after his mother left. It is coming along nicely and he thinks he has found a true passion in scrawling verses of lyrics. Another dream forms besides that of being a professional singer — songwriting would be amazing too, if he can’t make the jump from gigs at weddings to gigs in arenas or theatres… or if he reaches higher,  _ stadiums _ . 

A boy can dream… 

Louis combs his hair, fumbling with a few unruly strands that always fall into his eyes. Harry is right, his haircut is overdue. Lottie will hate him if he goes to another hairdresser, but is she here? No, she isn’t. Therefore she has no room to complain and be mad. He lets go of his hair and sighs before getting a headband from his suitcase which belongs to Perrie. She had used his suitcase for a trip and forgotten the headband and since then it has made its home in the dark, completely forgotten. Louis had been looking for a fresh pair of socks one day and it resurfaced. It takes a bit for him to get it to look right and he doesn’t really like how it feels around his head, but it does its job of keeping his hair out of his face. 

Now there isn’t any more time to stall, nothing more to do. He went to the loo twice just to have a reason to stay upstairs for a while longer and even considered a second shower. 

He inhales one last time before he opens the door to the hallway and walks on autopilot down the stairs. With each step, his heart gives a tiny shudder in its beating. Then, he finds himself standing in the kitchen doorway, watching his mother at the stove as his stepdad sets the table. Louis grinds his teeth. 

The time has come. 

The world will end. 

Louis’ last hour has begun. 

Tick… tick… _tick_ — 

He is being dramatic, he knows. He is self-aware, but can’t help it as he stands quietly and watches them work, both humming an unidentifiable song under their breath like it’s a completely normal Sunday evening and they are looking forward to nothing more than digging into their cooked roast. 

Louis hates it when people tell him beforehand that they want to talk to him. Lottie has done this countless times, his ex-boyfriend once did, and his professors often do a week before grades come out. He always goes wild with dramatics. He had cried to Niall that Lottie hated him, that Jack — his ex boyfriend — wanted a divorce (to which to Niall kindly reminded him that they aren’t married), and that his professor wanted to kick him out of the program. None of this happened. Lottie wanted an ear to complain to about school, Jack wanted to move in together — which, well, didn’t happen in the end because Louis wanted to continue living with Niall — and his professor wanted to ask if he could tutor another student. Yet Louis’ nerves were on fire and he couldn’t sleep every night until the day of  _ 'I want to talk to you, Louis'  _ came around and poked a needle right in the balloon of anxiety in his chest, causing it to vanish in one go, relief settling in its place. Or that one time when he — 

"Oh, Louis," his mum says, noticing him just then. Her voice brings him with a pang out of his thoughts. "You’re here. Get yourself a drink, dear, and dinner will be ready in a minute." She nods and turns back to the stove, turning off the gas and lifting up a pan. 

"Alright," Louis avoids looking Matt’s way as he shuffles to the fridge to have a look inside. He chooses a bottle of beer, guessing he will need some alcohol in his veins for him to calm the fuck down. He takes one and fills a pint glass, foam forming so quickly that he nearly spills it all over his front and takes two fast sips to stop it. 

He puts the pint on the table at his usual chair and sits down, jiggling his legs as he waits for Matt and Jay to join him. 

Supper is green beans, roasted pork, and steamed potatoes alongside white bread. Louis helps himself to some of everything and cheers his beer to Matt — without looking at him directly — and his mother, who he smiles at. 

They all dig in and Louis has to repress a moan because, bloody fucking hell, he missed food so much. He has to stop himself from inhaling everything in one go. 

Dinner is filled with simple chatter. Matt talks about business, how nice all his employees are and how it’s running well considering it’s just starting up. He thinks that next year they can start to renovate the barn and perhaps build a swimming pool in the backyard. They talk about those plans until their plates have cleared and there is nothing more to talk about. 

Just as Louis leans back with a full tummy and a warm feeling in his bones, sleepy and well, Matt clears his throat. Yep, this is really happening. He wishes he hadn’t eaten that third serving. 

"We haven’t seen much of you lately," Matt begins, and Louis blinks blankly at him. "It's a shame, really, because we wanted to go on that fishing trip, remember?" 

Eh… what now? 

Louis waits. 

"We were a bit worried about you, your mum and I," he says, sending Jay a quick glance before fixing his eyes on Louis and, well, here it comes. Harry was right, they want to sell him. "I just wanted to let you know—"  _ we have a buyer, lucky us,  _ "— that I like you." 

Okay. 

What? 

Honestly, is Louis in a food coma? Because his mind is not following this direction at all. Did Matt just say he likes him? What? 

As Louis just stares, Matt sends Jay a helpless glance. Louis guesses the man isn’t very good at the emotional part of being human, never learned how to express himself clearly. 

"What he’s trying to say is…" Jay takes over the conversation, and Louis’ eyes dart to her, "he—" 

"My brother was gay too," Matt blurts out, his words slurred. 

Louis shouldn’t have had that beer. 

"My brother was gay too," Matt repeats slower, more confident. "I can’t say I understand it, never understood him… but I tolerate it… his… likes—" 

Louis’ chest fills with a sharp breath, the word  _ 'tolerate' _ on his tongue —  _ tolerate _ . Louis  _ tolerates _ the weather, he  _ tolerates _ when someone changes the song, he  _ tolerates _ when someone’s opinion is different than his own. Tolerating someone’s sexuality is like tolerating someone’s merely existence. 

Before Louis has time to snap, though, Matt winces and covers his face. When he speaks, his voice is muffled by his palm. "That came out wrong," 

Louis watches for a while as Matt tries to struggle through the situation, uncovering his face and sending Jay an even more helpless puppy-like look. His rounded checks are so red that by the time he has opened and closed his mouth several times, he resembles a tomato more than a human. 

"What I’m trying to say is, Louis," he starts again, "I don’t want you to hide away, hide who you are, or fear… me or what I might now think of you. I love your mother with all I’ve got. If I could, I’d buy her the world, and you’re a part of her — a part of the woman I love. It pained me all week how poorly I reacted and that you were avoiding us. You guys invited me to be a part of this family and I want you to feel safe and loved in this space. I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but if I can help it, I want to be with your mum for the rest of my life and I want to be… someone you can trust. The same stands for your sister, of course. No matter what, I want to be there for your incredible mother and you guys." 

Jay is teary eyed by the end of Matt’s speech and Louis is kind of… somewhere between disbelief and shock — at a loss for words, at best. 

Matt exhales a big breath. 

"We should go on that fishing trip next week," Louis replies with a shy nod and a smile that forms slowly. 

Matt blinks at him and as Louis’ words sink in and are understood, he returns Louis’ smile. 

Jay squeezes Louis’ hand. 

"I’d like that, son." 

Louis doesn’t comment on the name and merely nods again. His chest lifts with relief. Here he was thinking they had found out about how poorly he’s doing and wanted to get him help and a room somewhere in an institution that smells medicinal… and instead what he got was an emotional speech about Matt accepting him, telling him that he’s got nothing to fear. Well, damn. Okay. He will take it. 

"There is something else we wanted to tell you," Jay says into the comfortable silence that has settled over the dining table. 

Oh, now they are coming out with it, just when Louis had thought it was all over and done with… 

Great. 

Here it comes… 

_ Psych ward.  _

Louis nods, lowering his eyes to his plate whilst the words “psych ward” echo from the walls of his skull. A picture of him being tied to a bed flashes across his mind, completed with someone spoon feeding him disgusting oatmeal. A nurse has to put him to sleep because he keeps spitting it out and snapping at the hand that is holding yet another spoon of brown mush. 

Harry was so right, that was their plan all along. That is why they started with the whole  _ 'I like you, we’re a family'  _ thing, just to make sure he knows they only want the  _ best _ for him and are  _ worried _ and want him anywhere else but here so they can drug him up and fix whatever is messing with his mind and causing his body to move at night — 

"Louis, I’m pregnant." 

They will force him to wear a straight jacket and doctors with white coats will come in and out, looking at him with cold eyes. At some point he will have to be force fed with a tube, and he heard that hurts a lot when they put it down your throat… 

_ Wait _ . 

"What?" He blinks several times, an imaginary hand waving away the mental pictures of hell in his mind. "What? Come again?" 

"I am pregnant," Jay swallows. Matt smiles across from her. 

"You’re…" Louis’ lips flap for a moment as his brain clicks, shuts doors, and tries to find the key to open this very new door. Every cell of his body, every atom is confused and shocked and… this cannot be good for his heart right? "You’re… you’re pregnant?" 

"I am, yes." She smiles too. Hers is a bit more apprehensive than Matt’s, but it’s a smile nonetheless. 

The new door opens and his psych ward nightmare closes. 

He slumps back in his chair and laughs softly. "You’re pregnant," he states again, because hell, this is… amazing. This is too good to be true, they won’t send him anywhere, they are expecting. 

Shit, they are  _ expecting _ . 

Louis jumps out of his seat and hugs his mother in an awkward hug in their standing and sitting position, winding his arms around her sides and squeezing her shoulders. She pets his arm, laughing. 

"You’re fucking pregnant," he hushes into her hair, choked up. "I—" 

"I know, we can’t believe it either," Jay murmurs before sniffing. 

Louis can’t let her go just yet and clings on to her until his back pains and he is forced to move from his position. 

"I’m happy for you guys," he says and smiles at Matt as he sits in his chair. 

"Thank you, son." 

A baby…

Wow. Alright. 

Another sibling…

Oh my — 

"Does… Lottie know?" Louis asks as his mother wipes tears off her cheeks. 

"No, not yet — I wanted to talk to you first, since you’re here… we’ll call her tomorrow though." 

She’s going to love this. Lottie loves babies. 

From there on, everything goes a bit easier. Their chatter turns to Baby Talk and Louis stays in the background, just happy to be sitting with his mother and her husband at the table and talking about something they are all excited about. It’s a change, the first true change he has seen while staying here — Matt leaves politics out and business shit doesn’t surface in any further conversation again. By the time Louis hugs his mother goodnight and waves to Matt — because he isn’t ready to give that man a hug yet, guessing it’d be too awkward — he feels warm from the inside out. 

His tummy is full, his mind has settled and so have his nerves. 

Everything will be fine. He’s getting another  _ sibling… _

* * *

The week starts with rain. Liam and Louis call off their run and Louis kindly turned down Liam’s offer to tag along at the gym. Harry is meant to come around in the afternoon, Matt is at work, and Jay is doing some cleaning which Louis quickly escaped from after breakfast. 

He is playing guitar again.  _ Nirvana _ this time because it makes him feel closer to Harry, just like his own written song. All the while, thick drops splatter against the windows and the grey sky casts saturnine shadows over his room. 

It fits his mood today. Last night was hard — Harry wasn’t there to hold him and falling asleep had given him trouble. When he finally did fall asleep, the girl showed up and instead of handing him a knife, she led him outside, pointing until a shadow flickered beside them before tugging him into the darkness of the barn. 

There they waited, panicked and scared, just like all the other times. Then this…  _ thing _ opened the door and surrounded them with a foul smell and rattling breath. Even now, he can still feel the coldness that radiated off it. 

Louis strums the wrong chords and frowns, fear tingling in his neck, causing his attention to run thin. As he misses the right chords once more, he gives up on playing completely and lays on his stomach. He wonders what that thing is — he can’t ever see it since it’s always black around them in that barn. He doesn’t dare to check out the barn again because he fears what he might discover. What if that thing is hiding in there, just waiting for him to return? What about the girl? She is so frightened by it, too. Maybe she needs protection from it and that is why she keeps waking Louis up in the middle of the night. 

There must be answers. 

Right? 

_ Somewhere… _

Out there. 

His mother interrupts his brooding around lunch time, and they eat in his bed because his mum just cleaned the kitchen and dining area and doesn’t want any crumbs on the floor. When they are done, Jay lingers behind, asking if Louis could play a song for her. He does, however, not Harry’s song, but  _ Lake of Fire _ which Harry taught him a while back. 

She applauds softly when he puts down the guitar. "I could use some help," she says, innocently. 

"With what?" he asks, pouting. "I wanted to —"  _ do absolutely nothing. _

"The basement has to be cleaned. There are some boxes that need to be sorted." 

"No way, mum, c’mon!" Louis whines. "I don’t want to… seriously, can’t Matt do it?" 

"Hun, he works so much already. He won’t want to come home and have to work even more… and you promised you’d help around the house." 

"Yes," Louis nods, speaking slowly, "around the house — not in a dark, spooky basement." 

"I can’t do it, I’m pregnant." 

"Mum," Louis juts out his lower lip exaggeratedly "it’s my summer  _ break _ , which will end  _ very _ soon —" 

"Louis, please," she drops her act and takes up a new route, a more angry  _ I’m the mum _ route. "You didn’t help at all the past week." she reminds him, wiggling her finger in a tattling way. 

Fuck. He is  _ fucked _ . 

"Alright..." he gives in, dread filling his gut. "If I die down there…" 

"Stop it," she huffs, "nothing will happen." 

"I could break my back. I could fall down the stairs… something could attack me—" Perhaps something with rattling breath? Louis swallows. "I—" 

"You’re cleaning the basement, Louis. It wasn’t much of a question." 

"I can’t—" The smell of foulness is already creeping up his nose as if it were close to him. "You don’t understand—"

"Oh, I understand you just fine. No more words, Louis." 

She leaves. He stares after her. 

_ Fuck _ . 

* * * 

"I won’t survive this…" Louis whispers to himself, taking slow steps down the stairs that lead into darkness and his potential death. His mum told him the light switch is at the bottom of the stairs to his right. He turns and slaps the wall. His fingers make contact with something and he feels more around in that direction. 

The lights flicker on, yet it’s not really…well, bright down here. It’s more of a dark orange glow. It sets the basement in a creepy atmosphere and he is reminded of the barn and how ill-lit it was in there during the day. He swallows. 

The other thing about the basement is that it’s more spacious than he would have guessed. The room is painted in a puke-green and somewhere water is dripping, the repeated sound of a drop falling and splashing on the ground loud in the otherwise very quiet, underground room. 

Boxes are everywhere. Louis thinks Matt must have hauled all of the knick-knacks down here just to get them out of the way. From afar, he spots an open box where a teddy bear’s paw is showing and he guesses Lottie’s dolls must be here too, then. Remembering Harry’s story, a shiver runs down his spine.

Fuck Harry’s fucking stories, honestly. 

Perhaps that is why he’s been sleepwalking and losing his mind, because the boy crept underneath his skin and his stories wound their way in the deepest parts of his brain. Like brainwashing… 

Louis grinds his teeth and moves forward, putting his hands on his hips. The sooner he starts, the sooner he gets to leave. 

His mum told him to sort the boxes from his toys to Lottie’s old shit to family stuff and anything that seems close to being rotten, mouldy, or is rubbish will be thrown out. If he finds old clothes amongst this mess, he is to put it in a plastic bag that they will give to charity, the same goes for old books nobody reads anymore. Why couldn’t they have done that before, when they were already packing their shit? Ugh. There clearly is no logic left in this family. Anyway… he can complain all throughout dinner later. 

Other than that, he also has to clean the shelf — which is placed at the wall to his left — which Matt wants for his tools and other  _ manly _ things. Psh...

The first box he opens contains children's books. 

They will probably need them later on, right? He takes  _ The Little Prince _ out and smiles, putting it back and taking  _ Ariel _ in his hand — it used to be Lottie’s favourite story. Louis’ favourite was obviously  _ Peter Pan. _ On nights when her brain couldn’t come up with a tale herself, Jay would switch between reading  _ Peter Pan _ to them one night and  _ Ariel  _ the next. If Jay wasn’t around, their grandma read those to them, too. 

He comes across cooking books which were never ever used and places them on the ground. There is a horse book also, which, well, they don’t have a horse, none of them are cowboys, so it joins the cookbook on the ground. 

So it goes: books about gardening —  _ charity _ ; a book about how to be a good host —  _ charity _ . (Well, Louis hesitates but, honestly, whatever —  _ charity) _ . 

He goes on like that, pausing only to sneeze a few times when a cloud of dust greets his face as he gets to the bottom of the box. Having that settled, he moves on to the next box and does the same there. Every item he guesses they don’t need anymore is dropped to the floor, and every item he guesses they will need in the future stays in the box. 

The doll box is the only one he avoids with wary eyes and at last puts another on top of, just in case. He won’t be eaten by a doll today. That was definitely not on his to-do list. 

He squats down and wipes sweat off his forehead, folding over the sides of the next box’s cardboard and looking inside. He stills and blinks. 

Huh. 

"What are you doing down here, eh?" he muses, taking a slick black photo album out and turning it in his hands as he blinks down at it. He can’t remember ever seeing a black photo album — they mostly chose colourful ones because Louis liked green a lot while Lottie adored pink and later on blue. Their mum just went with it, filling the colourful books with even more colourful pictures of happy family memories. Perhaps this one was from before he was born. Maybe Jay herself preferred black. After all, with so many pictures on his phone, it’s been a while since he has looked at their photo albums. Maybe it just slipped his memory that he has held it in his hands before.

He checks over his shoulder before sitting on the dirty ground cross-legged and opening it.

Instantly, Louis’ vision blurs.

He stares. Stares hard. Because it can’t be. It just can’t. Right…  _ right? _

He swallows and snaps the book shut, taking a collecting breath before reopening it. Dread fills his gut, sitting at the bottom of his stomach in a thick tangled knot.

_ The symbol. _ It’s painted in a white marker on the black front page. 

How… what… what in the world? 

What? 

Louis blinks and traces the white fine line with his finger. He turns the page and the first thing he’s drawn to is the date, written in tight cursive:  _ Summer ’89  _

His eyes snap to the photo. It shows unfamiliar people smiling at him. They are standing outside and behind them… Louis leans closer, his eyes squinted — is… is that… the house? Their house? The house he’s currently in? It… it is — it’s the same. The exact same. There is no denying it. 

Louis recoils and blinks at the wall as shock pangs in his chest. This must be the… former owners. The ones that were… murdered, right? His heart picks up and again he checks over his shoulder before daring another look at the smiling people. 

The women are all dressed in white dresses, the men in white shorts and a shirt, and all of them have long hair. 

After a long moment, Louis turns the page. 

Another picture. He shouldn’t be surprised, it’s a bloody photo album after all. Some faces he recognises from the picture before. 

The man with extremely long brown hair is sitting in a chair, on his lap is a much younger woman. She is wearing a white dress that reaches to her ankles, and her blonde hair is wavy and curly. The man is grinning at the camera, one hand on the girl’s waist while the girl is staring off camera. It looks like someone very tall took the picture while standing over them — the man having to look up and from that angle Louis can only spot the top of the girl’s head, her face not shown properly. On the table in the picture are ashtrays and what he guesses is a bottle of booze. 

His eyes move to the next picture: it's another woman with the same man. They are standing next to each other, the woman wearing a white dress that hugs her curves and goes really wide at the sleeves, reminding Louis of a witch. She has brown wavy hair and in her arms is a… baby? It definitely looks like she’s holding a baby, but it’s hidden in a white blanket, just a bit of its head poking out. Both the woman and the man are grinning, the man’s hand raised in a wave, his ring gleaming in the sun. 

In the next picture are three girls shown in the distance. By this point it doesn’t come as a surprise that they are all wearing white dresses. The girls are forming a circle and doing weird aesthetic poses. Louis guesses the photo was snapped as they were dancing, and flips to the next page. 

He cocks his head. One of the pictures is again a group photo, but someone seems to be cut out. The baby is amongst them again, the brunette woman holding it close to her chest. Next to her is the brown-haired man. Louis guesses they are the parents and probably married… he draws that conclusion from the ring, although the man wears it on his index rather than the traditional ring finger. 

The following picture shows a girl and once more, someone next to her was cut out — only an arm is slung around her shoulders. Somehow the girl’s face looks kind of familiar, something about that dress and hair… Louis blinks at the thought. He is pretty sure he has never seen someone like that in his life. This is another time period. The late eighties or something. 

Louis flicks through the booklet which reveals more group photos, pictures of couples, girls dancing, and a simple shot of the house. Back then, the house wasn’t covered in ivy and looks in a better state than it is now. 

He notices that someone got cut out of a lot of pictures. Louis wonders why. Did they do it themselves or did someone else have such hatred that they… cut them out of the family book? Is that what this is… what they are — a family? They are all wearing white in every single picture, but otherwise they don’t look much alike, honestly. 

Perhaps they were just friends hanging around the house. But Louis notices that not only was someone cut out, but the girls and the other men are much younger than the couple with the baby. About ten or more years younger… But Louis can’t tell for sure since the pictures are faded and yellowish around the edges. 

They photographed the baby a few times in its crib, seated on a high chair and playing outside in the grass. Louis smiles. 

He turns the last page. The symbol is painted here at the back too. He had nearly forgotten about it, too preoccupied with the  _ ‘family’ _ photos. Louis sighs and purses his lips. So what does it have to do with this  _ 'family' _ ? Perhaps they are church people?  _ No… _

Something nudges his mind. 

_ "I think they’re in a cult or something and when Zayn found that out about them, things broke off…" _ Liam’s voice rings in his ears. He hears himself reply 'a  _ cult? _ ' and frowns deeply. 

Who were they talking about— 

The girls — the girls Harry talked to. 

They were wearing…

Louis’ fingers flick through the pages until he finds one of the group photos and leans in close, scanning their faces, trying to recall from his first time at the pub what the girls he met looked like. They were the ones laughing about or at Harry. The dresses kind of look similar at least. Or perhaps it's just that kind of style which makes every item of clothing look the same and therefore every girl who chooses to wear it. That has to be it, right? Because… 

Louis closes the album and opens the page with the first group shot, his eyes scanning the date:  _ Summer ’89.  _ The girls look around his age — maybe a year older or younger, but not much more — which would mean they’d be in their forties now. So, it can’t be them, innit? 

The tips of his fingers tingle as he lays the book on his thigh and peeks inside the box, discovering there is another photo album. He takes that one out, too. 

The symbol is painted on the first black page again. The more he thinks about it, the more the idea that this could be a cult becomes clearer in his mind. He flips to the next page. It’s another group picture. They are all wearing white, but there aren’t as many people. Before, he counted around twelve now, but now only eight people are smiling at him. The brown haired man and brunette woman are in the middle, without a baby. They are flanked by four girls and four boys. The date in the corner tells him the picture was taken in  _ 1979, _ so exactly a ten year gap from the last album. He zips through it, stopping when he spots a small boy sitting on one of the rocks by the river. He is hiding his face from the camera, as if he doesn’t want to get his picture taken. The boy looks so small in the distance, a white little blob with dark curls on top of his head. 

He turns to the next page, then the next, familiar faces grinning at him. In one picture they are around a fireplace in the backyard, in another they are in a circle, everyone holding hands. In another, someone is playing the guitar and they all seem to be singing along, their mouths open as the picture was snapped. There is a picture of a brunette woman and the same young boy hiding his face in her skirt, little fists curling the fabric. 

Louis’ fingers tap the picture. "Who are you, little man, huh?" he asks aloud. It couldn’t be one of the other men. They were too old to be this tiny creature. 

Louis purses his lips and looks at the other photographs, his motions faltering as he finds the words  _ 'full moon' _ scribbled under one. From there on, he sees that at some pictures  _ 'full moon' _ is scribbled below. He wonders what that means, if it’s just a unique way to measure the time, to keep track or… maybe, if it’s a cult, perhaps it has a bigger meaning. 

He closes the album with a tired sigh. He knows they were shot in the end and he wonders if one of those grinning faces is the murderer or if he joined them later on. 

Then again, the men from the pub called this house a  _ 'hippie mansion _ ' and hippies aren’t really known for their violence. 

Louis can’t help but glimpse inside the box again. There is another photo album, which he takes out and skims through. It’s kind of all the same, except now there are even more people. It’s from  _ 1994 —  _ the year they died — and the album stops halfway through. Again, Louis notices how someone was cut out of some of the pictures. He doesn’t spot the baby anymore, she must have been around five or seven by that point. Did that shooter kill her too? A little girl? Just like that? What about the little boy? Where is he? Was he shot? 

Louis puts the book next to the other albums and blinks as he finds a journal at the bottom beneath two more albums. 

It’s leather-bound and someone — probably the owner — has doodled on it: a star and some smeared scribblings, now blurred together, unreadable. 

Louis unwinds the cord to open it and flips to the first page. He isn’t surprised to see the symbol painted here as well. This time it’s drawn all over the page, though. Small. Wild. Angry. 

He turns the page. 

In a neat font, it reads  _ 'belongs to: HES' _ and Louis frowns.  _ He’s… he is… _ he is what? No, that can’t be right. This is meant to be a name.  _ H.E.S. _ — huh. 

Louis moves on, doesn’t want to get hung upon something he can’t figure out on the spot anyway.

The second page offers a poem by Edgar Allan Poe. Louis reads through it, mumbling the words under his breath: 

_ From childhood’s hour I have not been  _

_ As others were — I have not seen  _

_ As others saw — I could not bring  _

_ My passions from a common spring—  _

_ From the same source I have not taken  _

_ My sorrow — I could not awaken  _

_ My heart to joy at the same tone—  _

_ And all I lov’d — I lov’d alone—  _

_ Then — in my childhood — in the dawn  _

_ Of a most stormy life — was drawn  _

_ From ev’ry depth of good and ill  _

_ The mystery which binds me still—  _

_ From the torrent, or the fountain—  _

_ From the red cliff of the mountain—  _

_ From the sun that ’round me roll’d  _

_ In its autumn tint of gold—  _

_ From the lightning in the sky  _

_ As it pass’d me flying by—  _

_ From the thunder, and the storm—  _

_ And the cloud that took the form  _

_ (When the rest of Heaven was blue)  _

_ Of a demon in my view— _

It’s haunting. Louis shakes off the feeling of tingling in his neck as his thumb flips the page. 

It’s yet another poem, though this time there isn’t an author named: 

_ There's a cold dark corner _

_ in the back of my room, _

_ it speaks to me _

_ and says I'm coming for you. _

_ As I lie on my bed _

_ in the foetal position, _

_ my eyes are closed _

_ hoping and wishing. _

_ Maybe that one day _

_ my dreams will come true, _

_ that I don't have to be here _

_ so down and blue. _

_ The corner keeps talking _

_ about how I'm going to die, _

_ all I can do _

_ is lie there and cry. _

_ As the corner gets closer _

_ and takes me in, _

_ my soul starts to burn _

_ as so does my skin. _

_ My bones shall lie there _

_ turning to dust, _

_ my bed surrounding _

_ nothing but rust. _

Louis’ heart saddens as he finishes reading. The poem is unnerving. Everyone in the pictures looked so happy but this… definitely comes from a depressed person.  _ The corner keeps talking about how I’m going to die, all I can do is lie there and cry… _

He swallows around the lump in his throat and has to take a moment to just breathe. He isn’t sure if he wants to keep reading. This is very personal, very dark and… probably not meant for another pair of eyes to read. However, he can’t help himself. Curiosity gets the better of him as it always does, and he scans the following page. 

It’s a poem. Of course. 

_ Hiding the hurt, hiding the pain,  _

_ Hiding the tears that fall like rain.  _

_ Saying I'm fine when I'm anything but.  _

_ This ache in my soul rips at my gut. _

_ My skin is on fire; I burn from within.  _

_ The calm on my face is an ongoing sin.  _

_ The world must stay out; I've built up a wall.  _

_ (It’s not enough!)  _

_ My fragile lie will collapse should it ever fall. _

_ Loneliness consumes me; it eats away the years,  _ _ rotting in pain, that is the worst of sins _ _ _

_ Until my life is swallowed by unending fears —  _

Louis isn’t very clever when it comes to poetry, though he’d like to be. But even with little knowledge he can appreciate the sheer sad beauty of it. It makes his heart ache… he can’t lie, it’s compelling. Louis stops. Never in his life has he found another’s pain  _ compelling _ . Maybe it’s the wrong word, but he can’t find a better word to describe it. 

He inhales the poem, sucking it up and swallowing the written words. The notes that are crossed out give him a good hint that perhaps the owner of this journal is the author of the last two poems. It tightens around his heart, squeezing it. As he flicks the page over, something tumbles out, landing in a blur on the floor. 

Louis frowns and blinks rapidly as he realises it’s a flower — a yellow marigold. 

With careful fingers, he picks it up and lays it flat on his palm. It’s a flower, like the ones in the backyard… a marigold. It’s the same flower the little girl was picking when she showed up for the first and last time during the day. Louis still wonders if it was a dream or…

He stares at the flower and then his eyes shift to the page. His stomach knots as he reads  _ MARIGOLD _ in bold letters, and below is yet another poem: 

_ All in all the clock is slow _

_ Six colour pictures all in a row _

_ Of a marigold _

It’s short, and while he reads the words, a memory flashes through his mind. But it is gone too quickly for him to make sense of it. However, somehow he has the feeling he has heard this before somewhere. Perhaps it was at school in English class. He shrugs to himself since he can’t make sense of it and lays the dried marigold on the stack of photo albums while he flicks through the rest. 

There are more poems and scribblings which he skips over quickly, saving them for later. As he gets to the last page, which is left blank, he feels something uneven beneath the pads of his fingers. He flips the last page, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as he finds a little pocket. He moves his fingers in between the gap and pushes the thick papers softly apart, leaning to the side to have a better angle to peek inside. Hidden inside, there is a thin stack of polaroids. 

The first one is a picture of a boy around sixteen maybe, with dirty blond hair and an easy smile. He’s sitting cross-legged on the ground, a guitar balanced on his thigh. He looks soft, kind of, pretty with blue eyes and crooked teeth. He is dressed in a simple white shirt and what looks like only pants, his feet bare and mud-stained — could this be the owner of the journal? Louis flips it over, reading on the back.

_ Johnny _ .

_ Johnny?  _ Louis’ eyebrows twitch as they push together. That name… Louis turns the picture over, staring at the boy, taking in the guitar. His heart picks up speed. No… no this cannot be. No. Nope.  _ No _ . 

There are  _ one million and more _ Johnny’s in this world who like to play guitar. This is just a  _ coincidence _ . Nothing… nothing more.

He puts it next to the marigold, his mouth run dry. A bit reluctantly, he turns to the next picture.

His heart flatlines. Numbness engulfs his body. 

" _ What… _ " he whispers to himself. 

Smiling at him is the little girl from his nightmares and sleepwalking episodes. Her unruly hair is wild and all over the place, her face hiding partly behind it. The other half of her face smiles at him, big and toothy. There is a dimple imprinted in her cheek. 

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a few calming breaths to gather his thoughts and collect his emotions. It takes a full minute for him to be able to have another look. It’s still the same girl that haunts him at night. The photo didn’t change despite how much he wanted it to, wishing it was just a trick of his mind. 

He turns the picture over.  _ Amber _ is scribbled on the back in a tight font, a little flower doodled behind her name.

Dread overcomes him as he lays it on top of Johnny’s picture. There’s one picture left. He takes the last one between his shaking hands, grinding his teeth as he flips it over. 

Louis’ stomach drops as he stares at the picture. 

He squirms, holding it closer to his face to get a better look but it doesn’t do much. He sees clearly and yet — it can’t be, it has to be a trick of his mind, because there is no way in hell.

It’s...it’s Harry. 

At the bottom is imprinted:  _ 1993 _

* * * 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed chapter 9! So much is to come now and I am so excited to share this story with you. Kudos and comments are so so welcome, I really want to know your thoughts! 
> 
> lots of love! xx


	10. CHAPTER TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happppy reading! xx

* * * 

The picture of Harry shows him in black and white, wearing dark trousers and a soft looking creme-coloured jumper. His hair is a little shorter, his curls combed back and pushed out of his face. He is sitting on some sort of counter or table, his back to the person who took the photo but his face turned towards the camera. His hand is holding onto his elbow and his lips are parted slightly as if he was about to say something in the moment it was snapped. 

On the small white space below the picture is written  _ 1993 _ without doubt — not  _ 2010 _ ,  _ 2015, _ or  _ 2018 _ . The font is neat and black; there is no mistaking it. It’s perfectly readable — no matter how hard Louis stares, how much he yearns for it to be a sick trick — it states the date of  _ 1993 _ . 

His heart sits in his throat as a deafening white noise rings in his ears. It might be the loudest noise he has ever heard. 

Blinking, he exhales a shaky breath and runs his thumb over the polaroid. 

This must be a prank. That’s what this is. It must be. 

Harry had planted it down here, knowing eventually Louis would discover it and he would have a laugh at his expense. That’s probably how the boy’s mind works. After all, he has tried to scare Louis from the beginning with his witch story and ghost tales and that child-eating doll nonsense. This is a prank, just a joke.  _ Surely… _

Why does his heart fill with doubt though? Why is there a layer of cold sweat tingling on his neck and why in God’s name isn’t Louis buying into it, laughing it off with a  _ 'haha, nearly got me there Harry, good one, yeah'. _

His brain is working in overdrive, scrambling to recall every conversation, every hint, every weird person who said something about this house. 

It had started with Harry saying it was haunted on the first day they met. Then at the pub, people called Harry a freak. There were those girls who wore flowing hippie dresses that resemble the dresses the girls in the photos are wearing; the men at the bar, telling Louis they wouldn’t set a foot in this house  _ ever _ ; people asking him if he was nuts for moving in here; Zayn acting extremely weird about it. Even Liam, he too was being odd, nervous to come over and get the WiFi running. He had told Louis his dad wouldn’t do it, and _ refused _ to do any jobs in the house. 

" _ Beware of the ghosts, Louis, _ " he had called after they had had a few, a couple weeks back. Louis had laughed it off, thinking everyone was just crazy and believed in the town’s tales just because they grew up alongside them.

And, of course, how could Louis ever forget his nightly encounter with the girl…

He takes the picture of her between his fingers, holding it up against the light. He hopes it’s just his mind tricking him into believing it’s the very same girl from his nightmares, but the picture is unchanging. The girl stays the night girl and Louis swallows around a thick lump in his throat. 

Louis can’t think. His stomach feels like it is full of snakes winding their way around each other, pushing against the walls of his abdomen. He scrubs a hand over his face, massaging the bridge of his nose before peeking at the picture again through the gaps of his fingers. There has to be a reasonable explanation. 

Whose journal is this? What is it doing in this house, after all this time? It had stood empty for so long, and there were police involved before that, so how could these photo albums and journals stay undetected? 

Questions lead to more questions and make his brain fuzzy. Louis chokes on every single one. 

“Fuck me,” Louis whispers with a prolonged exhale. “Who are you then?” he asks the picture of the girl. “What do you want from me?” 

After all these weeks spent taking night walks with her without her saying a word, it would be laughable for her picture to reveal anything to him. Not even the journal says much, does it? It’s just one major headfuck. He picks up Harry’s picture. 

“What are you doing in here with all those other people, Harry? Why is a picture of you in a fucking journal in the fucking basement of my fucking house?” Louis murmurs, his bottom lip wobbling slightly. 

His heart twists painfully as if it knows something that he doesn’t. 

A groan leaves Louis’ chest. He doesn’t know where to start. The girl remains a mystery and the symbol drawn all over the journal and albums as confusing as ever. The one thing he is sure of is that the pictures are clearly of Jay’s house. And yet, it’s like trying to solve a puzzle in the dark — all the pieces are there but you can’t fucking see how they would fit together. 

Louis checks the time on his phone. The screen is too bright for his bleary eyes and he frowns, squeezing his eyelids shut for a second before refocusing. Harry is meant to come around in about an hour. Louis could wait and ask him what this is all about. He must know. The picture is proof that he is a part of — whatever the fuck  _ this _ is. 

Pulling a grimace, he gets up from the ground, brushing dirt and dust off his trousers before cradling the photo albums and the journal in his arms and walking up the stairs. He checks left and right for any sign of Jay, but she seems to be busy, so he takes his chances and sneaks to his room. He throws everything onto the bed and sits with his back against the headrest. 

Somehow, seeing the photo albums spread on his blanket makes him even more sick. It makes it real.

He checks the time again but only ten minutes have passed. It sucks. Time seems to slow down while his heart beat flutters twice as fast as it usually does.

Louis grinds his teeth. Fine. Another look can’t hurt more than it already has. Perhaps by the time Harry arrives, Louis will have already found the answer himself.

When has Harry ever helped him anyways? Now that Louis really thinks about it, Harry has never revealed more than the shooting, which he only came forward with after Louis confronted him with information after his pub night with Liam and Zayn. Harry hadn’t wanted him to search for answers on the internet. Harry always brushed it off and told him stories about witches and dolls instead. Even if Harry knows, Louis doubts he would get an explanation out of the boy. It’s more likely for him to tell Louis another spooky story. What will it be this time? 

He reopens the journal, thinking that there must be some sort of hint or explanation in there. He skips past the poems he has read already, hoping for a new clue as to what is going on. It can’t all be poems, can it? 

Louis stops on a page and every single thought he has puffs into air as he reads the lyrics: 

_ I like it, I'm not gonna crack _

_ I miss you, I'm not gonna crack _

_ I love you, I'm not gonna crack _

_ I killed you, I'm not gonna crack _

_ I like it, I'm not gonna crack _

_ I miss you, I'm not gonna crack _

_ I love you, I'm not gonna crack _

_ I killed you, I'm not gonna crack _

The lyrics remind him of a faint memory of Harry singing  _ Lithium _ to him, but leaving this part out… 

Louis squirms. It’s a bit of a coincidence to find that lyric from Harry’s favourite band in the journal, right? Is Louis reading too much into it? Didn’t Harry mention that Johnny is a fan too? But… the date. That’s the biggest issue, isn’t it? The date. 1993. Kurt Cobain was still alive back then. Perhaps it’s just an odd coincidence. It… must be, right?

Louis takes a deep breath and re-reads the lyrics. They are all over the place, written over and over again like a mantra of some sort.  _ ‘I killed you _ ’ is sometimes exchanged with  _ ‘I kill you’ _ or  _ ‘I will kill you, I’m not gonna crack’. _ His ribcage tightens painfully. 

His eyes flicker from left to right, faster as he reads more and more pages. His heart is racing now, beating wildly — he’s going to have a stroke. New sweat breaks out of his pores, feeling cold and hot at the same time. He might throw up. He isn’t sure. 

_ I’m not like them,  _

_ But I can pretend.  _

There is another poem that causes him to pause and linger: 

_ My tongue _

_ Does not _

_ Spit out  _

_ Poison, _

_ Nor sugar. _

_ To give you _

_ Justice when  _

_ There is no _

_ Loyalty to  _

_ Be earned. _

_ While my blood  _

_ Drips down _

_ And doesn't _

_ Spills out  _

_ Lies. _

_ It only tells _

_ Painful truths _

_ To the ones _

_ That cast their  _

_ Own deceit. _

Fuck. 

Just fuck. 

Louis snaps the journal shut and reopens it to the first page. The letters spring into his vision like a big, fat warning sign. 

_ H.E.S.  _

Harry. 

Harry, E-Whatever, S-Whatever. 

No. 

Nope. 

The date is all wrong. It cannot be Harry’s journal. It wouldn’t make any sense. Louis glances at the time again — still half an hour to go for Harry to explain himself. 

The theory that is building in his mind is insane. His parents should have sent him to a psych ward, truly, because this is mad. Maybe he can talk to Jay now, tell her everything, and she can get him help? It’s not too late. There is medication that can fix the voice in his mind that is telling him that Harry is not who he said he is, that he knows more about the house than just the fact that a shooting went down. 

Louis chuckles and pulls on his bottom lip. He pinches it, twisting it until he gasps with pain as his nail cuts into the flesh. He stares at the closed bedroom door. The silence is pressing onto his ears and blood rushes through his eardrums as if it is trying to escape his body. 

Minutes pass, then half an hour, and still Louis hasn’t moved at all. He sits frozen on the bed, surrounded by the past of this house, the journal weighing down on his lap as if it were made out of metal. Louis swallows heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He winds his fingers around the soft leather of the journal. 

Giving up, he opens the journal and zips to the picture of the girl. If this is truly Harry’s journal (and honestly, it all kind of points towards that, doesn’t it? From the lyrics to the pictures to the letters H.E.S.) then who is she to him? Why was her picture tucked away with the one of this Johnny character in the pocket?

His chest heaves with a big breath. It’s pretty hard to put it all into perspective because his talks with Harry are mostly about himself. He had never realised it before now, but what does he actually know about the boy? 

His parents are sick and his family owns a farm and a hostel. 

His friend died. That very friend’s name was Johnny. 

He likes spooky shit. 

He loves Nirvana. 

Wow. 

That is  _ very _ much to go on, isn’t it? Harry is always so bloody secretive. 

Something pokes at his memory and he halts. 

There was one more person in Harry’s life that he mentioned. Louis blinks down at the picture of the girl, taking in her curly, brown hair and small dimples. Now that he thinks about it, she kind of looks familiar. The way she smiles, there is more to it. Didn’t Harry say…? Harry said he has a sister. 

So, it’s all a joke. Perhaps not only are Harry’s parents sick but he and his sister are too. It’s their way of joking, of freaking Louis out. Harry was always dismissive of Louis’ sleepwalking episodes and maybe that is because he  _ isn’t  _ sleepwalking, but it’s their nightly family entertainment: freaking out the new kid in town. Who does something like that? What sick person lets their little sibling break into a house? For what? That Louis comes running to Harry for help? That Harry can be there for him? That he feels needed? And Louis was blind to it all, wasn’t he? Just too keen to make friends, too eager to fall in love. 

What do they want from him? Why are they doing this to him? Why him? 

Still, this theory sits wrong with Louis. It doesn’t explain that thing in the barn. The girl was terrified, too, crying and clinging to Louis for dear life. In a way, he doesn’t believe that Harry would go out of his way to scare them both. That thing in the barn smelled... bad. Rotten.  _ Dead _ . 

Dead. 

The word makes him pause. 

Dead. 

_ Dead. Dead. Dead.  _

Huh. 

Louis flips through the journal again, reading the poems, the lyrics, looking at the pictures. He strains his brain to speed-think. He is being an idiot, isn’t he? Louis is so in love with Harry that he doesn’t want to believe Harry could fuck with him in such an enormous way, that he is considering the possibility that — 

No. 

Again, he checks the time. With baffled surprise, he notices that Harry is an hour late. Glancing outside, he notes that the sky is a dark grey. It all makes it worse. Harry is never late. Most times he comes over early, catching Louis off guard. Of course just today he is taking his time. 

Goosebumps raise on Louis’ skin although the balcony door is closed. 

If Harry would just show up, Louis is certain they could work through it together. Alone, more and more crazy theories are etching themselves in his mind. 

Dead. 

The shooting. 

Rattling breath. 

Sleepwalking.

Fear. 

Shadows. 

That doesn’t mean anything, right? Just because people in this town are scared of this house and the supposed ghosts in it, that doesn’t prove anything. Townsfolk love to gossip and make stories up, that’s how legends and myths work. 

His boyfriend is  _ not _ dead. Louis has touched him, and he felt real, like every other person Louis ever touched in his life. 

Harry is not dead. 

Of course not. 

Louis snorts to himself. 

Ghosts. Sure… sure…

“Don’t be stupid, Tomlinson,” Louis murmurs to himself, his eyebrows twitching. 

Louis can get around the fact that the photo albums belong to the former owners of the house, who were shot. Sure. It also would make sense that those photo albums were stored in the basement. Sure. But — 

Why was Harry’s journal —  _ if _ it’s Harry’s journal — put in the basement too? In the same brown, very vintage, moving box? Like it belonged. 

Now that this very stupid idea has popped into his mind, it screams at him until he gives in, just to put it to rest, and so he re-opens one of the photo albums. Flipping through it, he pays closer attention to the babies. There are two. Just because Harry has a sister that doesn’t mean that it’s them, but as he leans closer to the picture of the little boy with the curls, he can’t lie — it  _ could _ be Harry. 

How else would that be possible though? The dates are far in the past. Very far. So far that if Harry was the boy in the pictures, he would be… old by now. Not nineteen, but closer to, what? Thirty? Then his sister, if… that’s her, then that wouldn’t explain how she is still a child and not grown up. The only… no, not  _ only explanation _ , but… what if…? After all, this town seems to be obsessed with ghosts and the shooting that took place here. 

_ Ghosts… _

Harry was seen by people, by Louis’ own bloody freaking parents. They went into the pub together and he got drunk, he smoked. Harry got him the fuck off — how would that all be possible if Harry is a ghost? Huh? Well, it wouldn’t because ghosts aren’t real. 

However, Louis can’t lie, this would explain quite a lot about Harry’s actions and behaviours if it’s true. Louis swallows. 

Harry’s lack of knowledge about technology, for example. The way Louis had to explain how to use his iPhone to him, as well as what Instagram or Facebook are. How Harry had never heard of Spotify or any new songs, artists, or movies. His love for the classics like _Nirvana_, _the_ _Beatles_, _The Rolling Stones, _and _Queen. The Lost Boys _is his favourite movie, and that one is… _old_. He didn’t get Louis’ playful jokes about _Twilight_ or _Titanic_ — because that was all produced after his… _potential_ death. Him ditching Louis when Liam invited him to the pub and waiting for him in the driveway when Louis returned home. The way he wanted to know everything about Louis’ life in Bristol, yet at the idea of coming to visit sometime, Harry always changed the topic quickly.

That reminds Louis of something else. Harry hadn’t been the only one acting strangely that night, after all.

_Zayn_. 

Zayn had been pushing Harry: with the visit to Bristol and by asking him  _ 'so you guys met at the house?'.  _ Even back then it had seemed like such a weird question to ask and now, well. Louis doesn’t know. Even taking into consideration that his boyfriend died and became a ghost is out of this world, but no matter how Louis turns it —

_Stop_. 

With another, very exhausted sigh, he glances at the time. Harry is two hours late and Louis is now officially insane. 

The pictures seem to mock him, just like the symbol had done all these weeks since he discovered it. It feels like the entire town is in on a joke. Zayn, Liam, the old folks from the pub. And what’s up with those hippie girls? They resemble the girls from the pictures. Louis is a fool, isn’t he? But what does any of it mean? 

If someone has answers, any answers at all, it must be Zayn. Louis is sure as hell that Harry won’t tell him, even if he has them. He didn’t even show up. And somehow, Louis feels like it’s for a reason. 

Louis glances at the albums. 

Yeah… for a reason. 

Louis bites his lips, his eyes scanning the journal’s front. If Zayn knows, perhaps… he can tell Louis the truth. 

* * * 

Louis runs out of the house, ignoring the hard rain falling from the sky. His arms are full of the photo albums and the journal is stuffed into the back pocket of his dirty trousers, slapping the lower part of his back with each hasty step he takes. He ignores his mother’s calls asking where he is going and dashes across the driveway, storming onto the path that leads into the woods and directly to Zayn’s house. His arms shake with the heavy weight of the books that he is pressing to his chest, and his heart is beating at a fast pace, his soles hitting the road equally quick. 

No training could have prepared him for this moment, rushing to Zayn’s house for answers about ghosts because he has this insane theory that his boyfriend is one of them. 

A ghost. 

His sister, too, and… 

Yeah, no. 

This is too much. 

Louis shuts his brain up and pushes himself faster, falling into a light jog as the trees grow tighter. The world around him is set in shadows and a deep shade of jade green, while the sky above is a dark grey. He ends up sprinting, ignoring his arms’ protests and the way his legs scream and burn. His eyes are fixed on the house that comes into view just then and he runs the last bit, his shirt sticking to his body as he pushes on, his shoes hitting the ground loudly. By the time he takes the steps up to the front door, he is soaked from his head to his toes. Fortunately, his arms shielded the books from getting wet and the journal, tucked between his back and shirt, is hopefully intact as well. 

Before he has a chance to knock or ring the bell, the door flies open. 

"Bloody hell. What happened?" Zayn asks, taking in his drenched figure. His eyes are calm, but his features are set in a hard line. 

Louis storms past him into the living room. The smell of sage hangs heavily in the stuffy air, causing a coughing fit that erupts from his chest. He lets the books tumble out of his arms onto the sofa and spins around, fixing Zayn with a heated glare. 

" _ You fucking knew!" _ he snarls. His voice is hoarse but loud and fierce nonetheless. "You fucking knew all of it." 

"What are you talking about?" Zayn asks, cocking his head to the side. He looks so faux-innocent that Louis wants to go over and shake him, punch him, strangle him. He isn’t too fussy, any of the above would do. 

Louis grinds his teeth, holding himself back from violating his so-called friend. "Don’t bullshit me, I’ve had enough of it. Tell me everything. I’m done with the jokes and hints and spooky stories — I feel like a bloody idiot." 

Zayn considers him for a long moment. "Do you want tea?" 

Louis crosses his arms, huffing, "No,  _ fuck no. _ I don’t want fucking  _ tea _ ." 

Zayn sighs, shoulders hunching. "I’ll make some." 

As Zayn prepares their tea in the kitchen, Louis has a bit of time to calm down. Well, in theory he should have, but the longer he is alone in the living room with the books and the smell of sage, the more his body gets worked up. His chest rises and falls with quick breaths and his heart hammers in his head. His hands are trembling, and so are his arms. First, he crosses them tightly over his front, but when that doesn’t do much for him, he lets them drop by his sides. He balls his hands into fists, digging his nails deeply into his skin until the pain settles over the nerves in his palms. 

He swallows with difficulty and starts pacing circles around the coffee table. When his mind starts spinning, he stops and stares straight ahead, although he isn’t actually seeing much. His body is now cold, the rain drops causing goosebumps to spread on his skin. The journal, still sitting heavy in his back pocket, feels like it’s burning, catching his attention as he shifts his weight and the leather bumps into his back. 

He grits his teeth. He is still standing in the middle of the room when Zayn returns with two steaming cups. Carefully, he sets them on the coffee table, his eyes darting to the photo albums on the cushions before snapping up to Louis. 

"What’s all this?" Zayn asks, gesturing to them. 

"I found them in the basement," Louis says, his voice raw. His throat stings with each spoken word and he clears his throat. Now that Zayn is back, he does feel unexpectedly less angry. "They belong to the former owners of the house. I don’t know. It’s…"  _ all too much, _ he ends his sentence in his mind and again balances his weight from right to left and back. "I don’t understand…"

"But you do," Zayn murmurs, sitting next to the messy stack and taking the first black book into his lap. "May I?" he asks with lifted brows.

Louis shrugs and Zayn takes that as permission to open the cover. When Louis gets a glimpse of the symbol on the page, he turns his back to Zayn and shuffles to the window, staring out of it through two hanging bunches of dead, drying flowers. 

The rain leaves drops on the glass and fog builds in the backyard. His tongue rolls over his teeth. "Can I have a cigarette?" he asks quietly.

"Suit yourself, babe." 

Louis nods and takes a packet from where it is laying on the table. His fingers are still trembling as he gets a fag out and fishes for the lighter stuck within the pack. He has to click it several times because his thumb keeps slipping off it, but finally it catches fire and he inhales deeply into his lungs. He traps the smoke inside the walls of his body and closes his eyes as nicotine creeps to his forehead causing a light headache. He exhales at last and takes a double-hit right afterwards. 

While he is chain-smoking Zayn’s stack of fags, Zayn is looking at the pictures. Zayn hums thoughtfully here and there, but other than that neither of them speaks so much as a word. Louis wouldn’t know what to say and Zayn is seemingly too fascinated with Louis’ discovery. 

He has no idea how much time has passed, but when he takes a sip from his tea, it’s cold, and Zayn is through the second book already. His mind had been overcome with numbness a while ago, probably around his fifth cigarette, and his mind is a dark map. No thoughts are left and he prefers it that way. 

"Where’s Liam?" he asks, his voice very rough from the fumes. Asking for Liam is the safest thing to talk about. It brings some normality back into his day. 

"Hm, at work. He’ll come home soon, though." 

Louis hopes soon is in a few minutes. He could use a bit of Liam’s optimism and charisma.

"Do you…" Louis swallows, coming to a halt behind the sofa so he can peek over Zayn’s bony shoulders. "Do you know any of them?" he asks, pointing to a group picture. 

"Yeah," Zayn says with a slight nod of his head, "not everyone, but some…" 

It shoots a dagger right through Louis’ heart. 

"You do, too." 

"No, I don’t," Louis sets his jaw, his teeth clicking. 

"The girls — they were at the pub last Tuesday. Remember?" 

"No," Louis says stubbornly, "of course it wasn’t them." 

"You’re a fool." These words are somehow a confirmation. He had secretly been hoping that Zayn would laugh in his face, laugh off the ridiculous idea. He didn’t actually think it could hold any truth. It’s just a wild and far-fetched theory. He had wanted a confirmation that he was far off and to be told he just needs more sleep and to watch his eating habits. 

"I know…" Louis whispers, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fuck, I know." He ruffles his hair in helpless frustration. After all, he is a fool. No matter how you turn the story, Louis remains the knobhead. "They were those hippie birds, weren’t they? Harry… Harry talked to them at the bar." 

"He did," Zayn agrees. He turns the page, revealing a picture of one of the girls. It’s a close-up and Louis recognises her blue eyes. She’s smiling. Something painted in red on her cheeks and on her forehead there is a cross, also in red. Below the picture is again written:  _ ‘Full Moon’ _ . Zayn leans in closer, his finger drawing over the cross. "This is interesting," he murmurs, more to himself than to Louis.

"What do you know about them?" Louis questions, putting his hands on the headrest of the sofa and drawing his shoulders upward. 

"Not much, only that they all died and  _ kind of  _ lived like a hippie family in the seventies. People were a bit…wary of them because it was unusual for a group that wasn’t related to live in a house together. But since they kept to themselves, nobody ever checked on them or had any suspicion. Nobody really knew what they did in that house besides just living there peacefully," Zayn sighs, scratching his temple with the nail of his index. "My mum told me to stay away from it when I was little, but I didn’t obey because,  _ well, _ I… have a thing for the supernatural I guess. I went exploring on the grounds, but—" he stops. 

"Do you know Harry? Like did you know him before I introduced you?" 

Zayn snaps the book shut and Louis rounds the sofa, taking a seat next to him. They stare at one another for a long moment. Louis holds his breath. 

"I did know him from before, yes. When I went exploring, I kind of ran into him. Knew he was a ghost from the moment I saw him. I just didn’t know it was  _ Harry  _ though, he didn’t tell me his name. We didn’t talk much. I had my suspicions about  _ your _ Harry when he wouldn’t come with you to our place or anywhere, really. Liam and I didn’t know a Harry and… well, you know it’s a small town. Everyone kind of knows everyone," Zayn exhales and leans back against the headrest, crossing his leg on his thigh. His bare foot wiggles. 

"Those people called Harry a freak." 

Zayn nods. 

"Do they know… that he…" Louis can’t bring himself to say it. His chest heaves and a stuttered exhale leaves his lips instead of words. 

"Some probably do. On a full moon, it's always a full night." 

"But why?" Louis wrinkles his nose. 

"Well… on a full moon, ghosts are allowed to leave the place they are trapped in. So of course they’d go for a drink," Zayn rolls his eyes like it’s a funny joke, as if… this is somehow normal and their discussion is about anything  _ except _ ghosts. 

"Come again?" Louis blinks. 

Zayn sighs, and it’s a tired sound. "Ghosts are tied to the place where they died. But on a full moon they are allowed to leave. They must return before the sun comes up, of course, but… for one night a month they get to walk the world freely." 

"How is  _ that _ possible?" Louis wonders. 

"How is  _ anything _ possible?" Zayn quirks an eyebrow. 

"Touché," Louis groans and falls backwards, staring at the ceiling. "How do you know all this?" 

"My family is gifted. Don’t freak out on me now, but… I’m a medium. I’m cursed with the ability to see ghosts, all ghosts. Even the ones that have passed to the next world can still reach out and talk to me. It gets a bit annoying because ghosts can be fucking needy." 

Louis is at a loss yet again. 

"My parents had the same ability, and so did my grandparents. That’s why my mum didn’t want me to explore the house — because she was scared. That house is kind of crowded because so many people have died there and then witches were burned on that ground… it’s just the worst combination for a medium. It’s exhausting, hearing one million voices at once." 

"You’re shitting me," Louis’ mouth falls open. 

"Honestly, Lou, I wish it was all a fucking joke," Zayn leans back, too, interlocking his hands on his stomach. "That’s why I avoid places where I know ghosts… live. Like cemeteries, or the pub on a full moon." 

Louis recalls seeing Zayn and Liam fight outside the pub when he went there for the first time. Zayn had been pointing to the moon and Louis had noticed only at that moment that it was a full moon that night. Oh.

"This is fucked up," Louis breathes. 

"Welcome to my life." 

Silence.

"So… the ghosts stay in one place forever?" 

"Mostly. Some pass on, others either don’t want to or can’t for whatever reason. Some have business to finish, but are unable to since they are trapped." 

"Are… are ghosts dangerous?" Louis moves his thumb to his lip, nibbling at his nail. Every ghost movie he has ever seen flashes in front of his unseeing eyes. They weren’t really friendly. 

" _ Meh _ ..."

Louis blinks owlishly at Zayn. 

"Some," Zayn gives in with a shrug. "It’s the same with humans. Some are dangerous, some aren’t. The difference is that ghosts are already dead and therefore lose their morals. Nothing more can happen to them." He gives a nonchalant shrug. "Some spread evil, some want to be left alone, others seek humans to feel… not as lonely or… well, what do I know? I’ve only studied them basically since I was born, but only from afar. I might know a lot, but not everything. Every ghost is different, so you never know their true intentions." 

"What about Harry though?" Louis asks. His words come slowly and carefully, his eyes fixated on the coffee table. His heart clenches. 

"What about him?" 

"Is he dangerous? Is he… what does he want? Why… who is he?" 

"I… could take a good guess at who he is, but…I’m not sure if it’s true. I’ve met him a handful of times, but only talked properly to him on Tuesday." 

"So who do you think he is?" 

"I... I think he murdered those people." 

Louis shoots upright and spins around. "What the fuck? No. No, no fucking way," Louis shakes his head maniacally. "No, nope, Zayn, Harry… Harry is…" 

"A ghost." 

"Still…" Louis whispers, propping his elbows on either of his thighs and starting to massage his temples in circles. "He isn’t a  _ murderer _ . He  _ isn’t _ . He…" 

_ I will kill you, I’m not gonna crack.  _

No, it’s just a  _ song _ . A song, nothing more… 

"Hm… I mean, of course you could be right and he could be a victim too. The police shot the shooter at the scene and they weren’t able to figure out who he was. No name for him, no ID, no birth certificate, nothing. They called him  _ 'ghost'…  _ a bit ironic." 

"You told me that," Louis murmurs, staring at the space between his shoes. "So it could have been someone else, too." 

"Mmhmm." 

"This is crazy." 

"Sure," Zayn agrees, his voice sounding bored and unimpressed. How can Zayn be so calm about this? Louis’ world is kind of falling apart here. 

"I sleepwalk," Louis blurts out, twisting his upper body towards Zayn. 

The other boy raises his eyebrows. "Sucks, man…" 

"No, I mean, I started sleepwalking when I moved in. And the little girl…" Louis frowns. "There is that girl from the photo, I think it’s Harry’s sister," he starts anew, "she keeps waking me up and leading me to a barn. She points at it." 

He leaves out the part where a shadow creeps upon them and they hide inside the barn. 

"What do you reckon she wants from me? Do you think she’s real? A ghost too… or…?" 

Zayn shrugs. "It’s probably a ghost. Dunno about the barn, though. Maybe she died in it or something." 

Shit… that would explain  _ so _ much. 

Louis’ airways get cut off. The thing is, Zayn keeps talking in such a nonchalant casual way. It’s unnerving. "Died in  _ there _ ?" Louis blinks. 

"Well… to become a ghost, one must die, tosser."

"Yeah, it’s… just, yeah.” Louis frowns, the foul smell from the barn looming in his mind. Is her death what caused the scent? “What do you think she wants from me? If she died in that barn? I checked it out a while ago and there was nothing there, but that symbol painted on the ground. And she still keeps appearing so…”

Zayn shrugs, pursing his lips. 

“Is there a way to, like, help  _ ‘untie’ _ her from this place?” Louis makes air-quotes as he speaks the word  _ ‘untie,’ _ not fully believing that he’s talking about something like this at all. It sounds mad. 

“We don’t have any power over that,” Zayn murmurs, his eyes glazing over in thought. “There isn’t a way to make them go away simply because you want them to or to...banish them.” He blinks, rubbing his chin absentmindedly. 

“I’m not saying anything about  _ banishing _ anyone. I’m talking about helping them. Maybe that is what she wants from me?” 

Zayn shakes his head, his expression clearing. He blinks his long thick lashes rapidly at Louis. “Well, you checked out the barn, found the symbol, and yet she’s still bound to the house. Don’t think that’s it. Humans like you aren’t that powerful, you know?” 

“Hey…” Louis pouts.

Zayn smirks, amused. “I meant you’re not a medium and neither a witch or wizard, so you’re the wrong guy to run to. Sorry, mate.”

Louis stares. “So  _ you _ could help her? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m not so sure about that either. I told you, nobody has that much power over proper ghosts…  _ maybe _ , but I’m not sure. Though, there have been cases...” 

“Okay,” Louis’ chest gives a stuttered breath. “Okay, well…”

Zayn nods, yawning widely afterwards. "Want another cuppa?" 

"No, thanks." 

"I’ll make some." 

* * *

"What’s going on?" Liam drops his gym bag on the ground as he stands in the doorway, taking in the living room. Louis has spread all of the photo albums across the rug, sitting cross-legged in front of them. He feels like an FBI agent trying to solve a discouraging mystery. Zayn is stretched out next to him, lying lazily on his stomach whilst sucking on a cigarette. 

Louis briefly glances at him, then directs his attention to his puzzle on the ground. He thinks that  _ Brunette Woman With Baby _ is definitely Harry’s mother and  _ Long Haired Bloke _ is the  _ Baby Daddy _ and Harry’s father. The others are members of the  _ 'family' _ — which Zayn says means it’s a cult, that the girls at the pub had told him something like that when he explored the house. But Louis isn’t one hundred percent sure he believes that.

Louis has done his googling on different kinds of cults. He found some Jesus Cults, which promise things from an afterlife to adoption by aliens when they die. 

There were several cult leaders in history. Louis guesses the most famous is Charles Manson, who brainwashed his followers to obey him thoughtlessly. They were all loyal and would have died for him or… well, killed. Which is why Louis is kind of in denial about the cult thing. It cannot be  _ that _ bad, right? The folks living in town weren’t bothered by them, so there is that. Perhaps they were just farmers that liked to connect with nature as much as possible and had a few weird quirks here and there. Like how  _ Baby Daddy _ keeps showing up with different girls on his lap in different pictures — it could mean nothing, or it could mean something. 

Neither Harry nor Johnny are in any of the pictures in the album. Louis has a feeling that Harry is the person who was cut out. 

Their hard work has gotten them no further than this — figuring out the parents and Harry being cut out. It’s a bit disappointing. They have only drawn connections to what seems obvious. 

"Louis found out his boyfriend is a ghost. So we are playing Sherlock Holmes to find out more about his family," Zayn explains to Liam. 

"Oh no, Lou…" Liam kneels next to him, "how did he take it, Zee?" he asks over Louis’ head. 

"Pretty bad. Freaked out, I think." 

"I am right here…" 

"Are you though?" Zayn taps his temple.

Louis swats at his hand. 

"How are you?" Liam asks, rubbing between Louis’ shoulder blades. The gesture reminds him of Harry, so he shakes Liam off too. 

"I’m fine.  _ Superb, even _ . My boyfriend is dead and everyone except me somehow knew. I feel like a joke," Louis murmurs. 

Liam sighs. "Let me just hop in the shower and then once I’m done, I’m gonna help you guys. Alright?" 

Louis nods absently and Liam leaves them to it. 

The moment Liam is out of the door, Zayn punches his shoulder. Louis hisses in pain, rubbing the spot with a glare at Zayn, who glares right back at him with narrowed gleaming eyes. 

"Don’t be a fucking dick to Li," Zayn murmurs, dangerously low. "I don’t care what you have going on, I’m gonna kick you out." 

"Sorry," Louis bites his lip as his shoulders slump. "I didn’t mean to—" 

"I know, just… don’t be a fucking arsehole." 

* * * 

When Liam joins them, smelling of soap and cheap Axe cologne, they haven’t done much more than smoke, sit in silence, and stare at the pictures until their eyes dried out. Louis read some more pages from Harry’s journal and came to find out that it’s not all poems and song lyrics. There are hidden journal entries written as a diary. It gets even more confusing from there on: 

' _ She came to me, after I endured darkness for days, and held me tight. She’s the only thing that keeps me alive.' _

Neither Zayn nor Louis have any idea who _'she'_ could be. Zayn dismissed the guess that it could be Harry’s mother, yet it seems like the only possibility. One thing they do agree on is that Harry was depressed. _'I endured darkness for days' _might mean that he was in bed for days and couldn’t get up because he felt so bad until _'she'_ came and made it better. Neither of them think that _'darkness'_ is meant in a literal way. Plus _’she’s_ _the only thing that keeps me alive'_ is another clear hint at depression. It makes Louis' heart ache for his boy. 

"Can ghosts feel?" Louis wonders aloud, not daring to look up from the journal page. 

"Feel as in touch or as in emotions?" Zayn mutters, his eyes roaming over another group picture, the one where they seem to be praying around a fire. 

"Both, I guess…" Louis pulls on his bottom lip. 

When Zayn doesn’t answer, Louis is forced to glance up. He meets Zayn’s dark calm eyes, looking deep in thought. 

"I was just wondering…" 

"They definitely feel emotions," Zayn says, quietly. "Loneliness is a common emotion they carry around within them. I guess being a ghost is pretty hard — the world develops around you and you’re stuck. I think Harry has it even worse because nobody moved into the house after what happened there." 

Louis nods, trying to keep his mind blank for a moment. He doesn’t want to imagine Harry wandering through the empty halls of the house, bored and lonely and sad and depressed — damned to be alone with no way out. Enduring every day until the next full moon, when he finally gets to leave the grounds but has to return by sunrise. Perhaps he hangs out with his sister a lot. Louis blinks, wondering, since he can’t keep his thoughts at bay, what Harry does all day. Where is he when he isn’t with Louis? 

"Liam, remember those girls from the pub?" Louis blinks, trying to change the topic because his heart is already heavy enough as it is. It’s been a long fucking day. When Liam gazes at him, nodding once, he continues, "Do you think they are the same girls as in this picture?" He holds it up towards the boy. 

Liam gets up from his place on the couch, where he had been looking upside down at the albums and muttering a few helpful comments here and there. He and Zayn talk more with their eyes, keeping their mouths shut, excluding Louis every so often from their conversations.

Liam takes the picture in his fingers and brings it close to his eyes, scanning the faces. Louis holds back his exhale, anxiously waiting for Liam’s answer. 

"I think that’s them, yes," Liam nods, handing him back the photograph. "If they are in those pictures, it means they were murdered in the house too." 

A shiver runs down Louis’ spine. "But I’ve never seen them around?" Louis frowns, scratching his forehead with unkind fingernails.

Liam shrugs, flopping back onto the sofa. "Some ghosts don’t want to be seen." 

"They didn’t seem like the type," Louis says. 

The girls were pretty happy at the pub, having a nice time, giggling, attracting definitely desired attention… Louis wonders what Harry talked to them about and whether they hang out together at the house, too. His mind wanders in another, even more heart-twisting direction and he places the photo back into the booklet. 

Louis refuses to be jealous of some ghost girls. That's just beyond fucked up. 

"What does this symbol mean, do you know?" Louis asks into the stretched silence. 

"Dunno. But c’mon Louis, don’t you see that this all looks like a fucking cult? From the white dresses and clothing to a so-called  _ family  _ living in a house together. The girls told me, when I ran into them in the house, that they were a  _ 'family' _ and family translates to cult. How much worse could it make the situation to admit they were a cult?" 

The word ‘cult’ leaves a bad taste in his mouth, feeling dirty and wrong. 

"Harry said that his parents have a hostel and a farm or summat and people work for them in exchange for a bed." 

" _ Hostel _ my  _ arse… _ " Zayn huffs, ruffling his already messy hair. "There was never a hostel in this town. We have a modern B&B and one more expensive hotel, that’s it. It’s been like that for years. Since forever, I believe. My family has lived here since 1800, so I should know." 

"It’s not a cult," Louis sets his jaw. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Zayn and Liam are doing their eye-talking thing again. 

"I’m hungry," Liam says with a stretch of his arms. He rubs his stomach as he stands up. "Should I order in?" 

"Yeah, please, I’m starving too," Zayn calls out to the kitchen. "We’re out of cigarettes as well, maybe Jason can bring us some when he swings by." 

_ Tiny town _ … Louis reminds himself, before asking how a pizza delivery service would be as kind to bring them some cigarettes alongside the pizza. 

* * * 

They eat dinner in the living room — well, Zayn and Liam are eating. Louis is merely nibbling at his slice of pizza, his stomach full of questions and fear, confusion and sadness. He puts his half-eaten dinner back in the box and lights a cigarette. 

"I’ll check on the internet," Louis murmurs, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "There has to be something. If so many people got shot in one single place… it must have made the national news." 

Zayn shrugs. "I can tell you what happened again, but the story stays the same. A shooting, people died, the shooter is unknown—" 

"No ID, nothing," Louis interrupts with an added huff, "I know. Fuck. But  _ still _ , I mean…" 

"Knock yourself out." 

Louis gets Zayn’s laptop from the kitchen and sits on the rug in front of the coffee table. He puts it on the surface and waits. 

"You should have a password," Louis muses, gaining access to Zayn’s laptop without any trouble. 

"For what? I barely use that thing." 

Louis rolls his eyes and opens Safari. "That laptop costs more than my share of a month’s rent. You should definitely have a password for it." 

"Whatever," Zayn says, his mouth full. 

As Zayn predicted, there isn’t much on the internet to read about. There are some pictures of the people that died on that day, but both Harry’s sister and Harry himself are missing from the internet altogether. It’s as if they had never existed in the first place.

There isn’t much information about the shooter either, which seems odd. The murderer was around twenty years old, though no ID was found on his body nor in the house. He wasn’t registered in any database and had never set foot in a hospital. Police believe he wasn’t from the town. The motive for the mass shootings is unknown and a mystery. The police shot him during the act. Officers say he was singing a song as they arrived, although which song wasn’t released to the public to prevent copy-cat murders or cast the band in a bad light. The mass shooting is to this day one of the biggest mysteries of all time. Some true crime bloggers had covered it, but couldn’t get any further than the police, stating over and over the same old facts that Louis already knew. It’s nothing but speculation. 

"So, they are going with the storyline that these people were shot by someone who doesn’t exist. Couldn’t they compare DNA or something? I mean… everyone has parents," Louis’ eyebrows pull strongly together. 

"Well, technology wasn’t that great in the nineties and I think they wanted to save themselves from embarrassment. They shot him right away so everyone in town knew they were safe and I guess that was enough. They had done their duty." 

"Is there a chance the police will open the case again?" Louis wonders, exiting the website and typing ‘ _ HES’ _ in the search bar. Nothing related to the mass shooting pops up. 

The police, of course, hadn’t found the photo albums nor the journal. Otherwise they would have known more about the family and Harry. Since they didn’t name all of the victims, there is a good chance that Harry was amongst them. Unfortunately no website gives him any more information about the boy or the girl. 

Louis shuts the laptop with a frustrated groan. His eyes are bleary from the bright screen. He rubs over them with a tired hand.

"It’s getting late," Liam notes with a glance outside. 

The world has dipped into a dark glowing blue. Louis hadn’t noticed, but it’s already past eleven. 

"I don’t want to go back…" Louis whispers, a knot forming in his stomach. "I’m… I’m scared." 

It’s the first time he has admitted it out loud, and his chest tightens. 

"If you’d like, you are welcome to spend the night," Zayn offers with an easy shrug. "The couch is all yours, mate." 

Louis nods, feeling a whoosh of gratitude for the boy. "Thank you." 

"At some point you’ll have to go back eventually…" 

"I know. I’m just not sure if I’m ready yet." 

"How about we stop with the research and watch a movie?" Liam suggests. 

Louis scratches the side of his neck. 

"Sounds great," Zayn replies. "We should definitely watch a ghost movie." 

Liam erupts into laughter. 

Louis sends Zayn a glare. 

All he gets is a smirk in return. 

* * *

Morning creeps in with slow rays of sunshine that spread softly over Louis’ face. He hadn’t slept well, only getting a handful of hours in with the rest spent in a haze of anxiety. He lays there, his thoughts running amok until he decides he can’t stand the _What If _game any longer and gets up from his place on the sofa, escaping the cold smell of burned sage and cigarettes. 

Louis finds relief in the garden, beneath a tall oak tree. He sits down with the journal, hoping to find some answers between the lines that will smooth the knot in his stomach and lift the weight off his heart. 

_ I’m so happy because today _

_ I've found my friends _

_ They're in my head _

Louis wonders if there were ghosts living in the house even before the family moved in. After all, Harry keeps referring to someone as  _ 'she' _ — no name dropped anywhere — who mostly seeks him out. 

The line of,  _ ‘I’m so happy because today I’ve found my friends, they’re in my head’  _ is further proof that for the theory that a ghost reached out to Harry. Perhaps he thought he was going insane at first, too, like Louis when the sleepwalking had started. 

Zayn had told him that ghosts are needy creatures, lonely and damned to be alone forever and that is why they seek out humans as companions. When Louis had wondered aloud if Johnny could have been a ghost too, remembering Harry said Johnny had died, Zayn had pointed to Johnny’s picture, explaining to him that ghosts cannot be photographed. Just like vampires, they’d be a blur. 

Louis takes the dried marigold out from between the pages. He rolls it in his fingertips, the dried head swirling so quickly it blurs in his vision. Zayn owns a book about the meaning of flowers which Louis had flipped through when both boys went upstairs for bed. He had found a small article about the yellow marigold. It had read something along the lines of, it could stand for passion and creativity — which is positive — but on the other hand, it also could represent cruelty, jealousy, and grief. It is associated with the legendary brave and courageous lion and called  _ 'herb of the sun' _ because it only comes out when the sun is out. Then again, perhaps the girl just likes the colour and there is no further meaning behind it. Louis wonders if she gave it to Harry or if Harry picked it himself, recalling their conversation about favourite flowers and how Harry had stated a yellow marigold was his. 

He wonders about many things. He wonders about Harry the most, but he knows he won’t get more answers to satisfy his unruly mind until they have a talk. The thought of going back into the house and facing Harry alone causes his breathing to become fast and uncontrolled. Louis wouldn’t know how to act, how to even start this conversation. 

Does Harry know by now that Louis knows? Did he wait for Louis to return? Had he been watching him in the basement when he discovered his past? Did Harry plant the box there for him to find? If not, the follow-up question would be: how could the police have missed it in the basement if it was there before? Had Harry kept it hidden before for years? How? Where? Why did it resurface now? 

One question opens the door to an entire ocean of more, more, and more — endless other unanswered and so very frustrating questions. No answer is good enough. Zayn was a big help yet no help at all, at least with this. 

Louis huffs and ruffles his hair, drawing his knees to his chest and hiding his face on them. His head hurts. He wants to go back to being oblivious and just having a nice time with Harry. He’d prefer that much more to this fucked up mess. 

All he wanted was to have a lazy summer with his mother, practice his guitar skills and maybe sunbathe. What he got instead is a dead boyfriend and a mystery the police couldn’t solve — so how should he? 

In theory, he is aware that he has to go back and face Harry. Obviously, he can’t hide in the woods underneath Zayn’s blanket forever. Firstly, Zayn would kick him out. Perhaps Liam would kindly offer him a place to sleep at the gym, but that would also only work for so long.

Of course, there is the possibility of never facing Harry ever again and just leaving. 

He could leave this town for good, never to return. He could spin a lie about ‘why’ for his mother and live in denial about the entire thing from there on. His life wouldn’t change. He would still have Niall, Perrie, Jade, Stan, Andy, his music, his gigs, alcohol, his flat, and cigarettes. So nothing would really change if he just packed his things and left. Nothing… besides the fact that he now knows and his heart would remind him of Harry with each beat, like it’s doing currently. 

Drum-da-bum — Harry’s eyes. Drum-da-bum — Harry’s smile. Drum-da-bum — Harry’s voice. Drum-da-bum — playing the guitar with Harry. Drum-da-bum — Louis’ song for Harry. Drum-da-bum — Harry’s jokes. Drum-da-bum — how did Harry die? Drum-da-bum — what happened to him in the past? Drum-da-bum — Harry is dead. Drum-da-bum — Harry is dead. Drum-da-bum — Harry is fucking dead and Louis is in love with him. Louis can’t leave. They need to talk. Once they do, maybe he can find peace. Unlikely, but…  _ maybe _ there is a chance.

Drum-da-bum —  _ Harry _ . 

Louis won’t get any wiser if he stays out here. He won’t get any wiser if he takes the easy way out and fucks off to Bristol. 

And anyways, it wouldn’t be easy to just leave. 

It would be hell.

What if something were to happen to his mother? She is pregnant. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if a ghost attacked her or something. Should he tell her? 

_ Psych-ward _ , Harry’s voice rings in his ears. 

Louis sets his jaw, knowing he is right. They’d send him away. Someone who 'sees' and 'hears' ghosts isn’t mentally stable. It would push the situation combined with the sleepwalking over the edge. They wouldn’t believe a word he said, and they wouldn’t believe Zayn either. They could be roommates in an institution. Zayn would hate him. It wouldn’t be fun. 

He only glances up when the sun is fully shining above the tree crowns and he hears footsteps coming his way. 

Drum-da-bum — it’s time. 

* * * 

_ Here goes nothing, _ Louis thinks as the driveway comes into view as he rounds the corner, crossing over from the dirty path onto the familiar shabby, uneven street. His fists clench by his sides and his pace slows until his legs freeze in front of the gate, which is open but unwelcoming. The driveway is empty except for his own beaten car. 

It’s a good sign, honestly. He prefers that his mother and Matt are out of the house right now. He wouldn’t know how to explain himself, why he ran off, where he stayed all night. Jay must be worried sick. His heart twists in hot guilt and he exhales shakily, staring up at the house. It looks creepy, more so than usual, at least in the daylight. 

His eyes dart to the barn. That, too, looks spooky and now holds a much more sinister meaning than he could have realised in his nightmares and nightly wanderings. 

He can’t do this. He can’t. 

Louis stutters an exhale. 

He and Zayn had gone over the plan throughout the entire morning and a good half of their day. They went back and forth about what to do. Louis had even started making plans to move to Australia, before reconsidering as he remembered every animal could kill him in that country. Then, he tried making plans to just hide out in Ireland. Niall’s family has a lovely home, surely they wouldn’t mind him staying in Niall’s bedroom…

It had gone on for so long, Louis getting more and more worked up again until Zayn had had enough and put his hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly as his brown, calm eyes looked at him dead on and he said,  _ 'Louis, get your shit together. You can’t hide forever. You can’t run from this.'  _

And he was right. Louis can’t run. His mind has gone through every possibility and his heart disagreed with each of his racing thoughts. 

_ Drum-da-bum. Drum-da-bum. Drum-da-bum.  _

Inhale…

Exhale… 

It’s like ripping off a band-aid. You just do it. You can count to three and you can close your eyes, but that sticky thing has to be ripped off, no matter if you’re ready or not.

Louis isn’t ready. 

He stalks to the house anyway. 

* * * 

The house is empty, as he had guessed. His mother had left a note for him saying they won’t be back for dinner because Matt has another of those business meetings Louis doesn’t understand, but that suits him just fine. 

Louis still lingers at the bottom of the stairs, his fingers gripping the railing in a death grip, his index tapping a nervous rhyme to match his heartbeat. The journal burns in his back pocket, setting his spine on fire.

He takes the first step upward, which feels much more difficult than before. He takes another — and so he goes. Walking through the gloomy hallway, his heart pounds in his ears and fear tingles on his skin as he nears his bedroom. He lingers in front of the door, his fingers winding around the door handle. He feels frozen, unable to push the handle down and open the goddamn door. 

Setting his jaw, he draws comfort from the way his teeth press together and the sharp bone of his jaw pops out. 

It's now or never. 

Never. Never. Never. 

Lets run away, his mind begs. Back to Bristol, Niall, gigs, Perrie, music — music...

Drum-da-bum — Harry. 

Before, when Louis’ thought of music, he would think of Niall. But now his thoughts rush to Harry — Harry and his guitar, Harry singing, crooning softly with closed eyes. 

Drum-da-dum. Drum-da-dum. 

He pushes the door open and releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

The room… the room is empty.

The bed looks messy, as if someone has slept in it although Louis knows his mother made it yesterday. After she scolded him for his chaos, she made it for him as an ‘exchange’ for him sorting out the basement. 

Oddly enough, his shoulders slack in disappointment at the sight. Harry isn’t here.

He must be though, right? There is no other place for him to live but this house. 

Because Harry is a fucking ghost. At the oddest times, Louis keeps forgetting this fact. It’s weird. Perhaps he is still in denial about it. 

He checks over his shoulder, leaning further back to check the hallway, which is still as lifeless as his room. Louis swallows and shifts his weight awkwardly. 

Fuck this. 

"H-Harry?" Louis asks into the emptiness, feeling extra stupid in doing so. "Harry?" he repeats softly, shuffling forward. His eyes roam the place slowly, trying to see a flicker, shadow, or any other sign that Harry is present. He goes to the balcony and leans over the railing, checking the garden. 

Nobody is here. No girl; no Harry; definitely no hippie chicks. 

Scratching the top of his head, he turns and walks back inside, throwing the journal onto his mattress without another glance. He leaves his room, ambling back downstairs. On his way, he keeps checking each room he passes, having a short peek inside before closing the door and moving on.

However, Harry is nowhere to be seen. 

In the living room, he stops and lets his head hang, pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhales. Exhaustion mixed with frustration gets the best out of him. 

He rolls his head around his neck and closes his eyes. "Harry?" he whispers, directed at the ceiling, starting to spin in a slow circle. "Harry?"

He stops and walks out of the room, going into the kitchen and from there crossing over into the garden. The sun shines on his nape as he marches to the river with determined steps. 

Louis has no idea what to do. He had guessed that Harry would be waiting for him, like so many times before. He didn’t calculate for the possibility that Harry wouldn’t want to see him, not the other way around. 

This is bizarre. 

Putting his hands on his hips, he rotates towards the house and tilts his head up, glancing at the windows of his room. He squints his eyes, trying to see through the white curtains for a sign of movement, a shadow — anything that would suggest that Harry is here. 

Nothing moves. Louis is at a loss.

He sighs as his arms fall to his sides and for a second time today, his shoulders slump in defeat. 

He goes back into the house. 

"Fine!" he calls out, his arms spread widely. "Fine, you know what? If you don’t wanna talk, then don’t. Let’s not, huh? See if I fucking care, Harry. I fucking mean it, you dickhead. I’m done playing fucking hide and seek with you! Fuck you!" 

He stands and waits with a heaving chest, his defeat having transformed into utter anger. 

Yet nothing comes. 

Louis gets a whole lot in return for his outburst. 

Great. 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he leans against the wall in the entrance hall. Salty tears spring to his eyes although he refuses to be sad about  _ Harry _ being the one who doesn’t want to see  _ him _ . He should be relieved,  _ that’s _ what he should be. Harry is a liar, dead, and possibly a murderer. Louis should be happy that Harry doesn’t want to show himself now.

He isn’t, though. He is sad, so fucking sad that his chest shudders with a dry sob. This is a fucking mess. 

"Coward…" Louis mutters, sliding down at the wall and pulling his knees up, hiding his face in his thighs. "You’re a b-bloody coward, Harry, you h-hear me?" Louis calls, hiccuping, his voice loaded with emotion.

He cries silently after that until all his tears are shed and dry sobs rip through his throat. His nose is running and his trousers are wet with spit, tears, and snot. He doesn’t care. He is done. He has lived in a tight bubble of anxiety for two days without sleeping, plus he has found out that his boyfriend is dead, a ghost, and now apparently doesn’t want to see Louis. 

Realisation dawns on him like a spotlight suddenly blinding him on stage. It sucks all of the emotions right out of him like a vacuum. 

"Oh…" Louis fish mouths, nodding to himself, "oh, I see… I see…" He blinks another fresh wave of tears out of his eyes. "I see…" he mutters. "This was all a fucking game." Louis says out loud, his mind blank because it makes sense, so much sense. Harry had played him from the beginning. 

Ghosts are lonely, some lose all their morals. Harry, being trapped in one place for such a long time, probably got bored, so much so that he took the first opportunity to mess with oblivious Louis, someone not from here, who didn’t know anything about ghosts or the mass shooting that went down, who was open and clueless and welcoming to a stranger. Harry had built this story about himself, opening himself up to Louis, telling him his sob story about his parents and Johnny, wooing Louis with songs and smiles and his bloody fucking dimples all while having a laugh with his ghost friends. Perhaps that is what Harry talked with the girls about:  _ 'yeah see that guy in the booth? Haha, so funny but he thinks I like him, he’s proper stupid, totally buying into it — how desperate must he be?'. _ Yeah, yeah… this sounds logical. It was too easy, Harry showing up in his bedroom and isolating him from the world, being jealous the moment Louis spent time with Zayn and Liam…

Wow. 

Louis blinks rapidly. 

Wow. 

Drum-da-bum. 

He is a bloody fucking idiot. 

This makes sense, of course. 

And Louis fell for it so hard he nearly broke his jaw. He bought into it all, the entire act. 

Louis swallows and heaves himself upward, his muscles protesting all the way until his spine straightens. He breathes in all the energy he needs to make it up the stairs. His knees shake, though he can’t tell if it’s from the crying or from the anger. His heart clenches, twists and flutters in his chest with a loaded ball of emotions. He feels so much. He is heartbroken and confused, sad and tired and… 

_ And… _

Louis goes into his room and flops onto the mattress face first. 

The tears come back as if not only his eyes are crying, but his heart is too. 

Drum-da-bum… 

_ Here goes nothing.  _

* * * 

It’s been two days, two long days of utter depression. Emptiness has spread throughout his body and it grows as seconds, minutes, and hours pass by without him taking much notice. He has locked himself in his room and refused to join his parents for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. 

When his mother asked what happened, he said that he and Harry broke things off and she left him alone to have time to mourn a relationship that was a humourless joke. He, of course, left out everything and merely said that Harry isn’t the person he thought he was, because that kind of sums it all up without revealing the truth fully and in its totality. 

Harry hasn’t shown up once. Louis’ nightmares have stopped and so did his sleepwalking. He isn’t as relieved about it as he should be because at least he could now ask the right questions to Harry’s sister. That part doesn’t get easier — it’s still weird to think about ghosts and dead people wandering the halls. 

Liam had called him the morning after his first night back at the house, asking how he was holding up and what Harry had to say. Louis had broken down and cried into the phone whilst Liam comforted him, both Liam and Zayn inviting him to stay for a while at their house. But Louis had refused, telling them he was very grateful but going to them felt like hiding and running away. He had called Harry a coward, after all. He doesn’t want to make the mistake of being a hypocrite now. 

He hasn’t showered once, has only had some tea and plain crackers that his mother put in front of his door. Once her footsteps faded, he opened the door and took the plate inside. He ate some, but not much, his stomach in too much of a tight twist.

At night, when sleep won’t come and relieve him from his suffering, he tortures himself with Harry’s written words. He reads the poems over and over — the diary entries, the lyrics… it’s Harry’s neat handwriting, his thoughts and feelings. Louis, though he is still awfully heartbroken, feels a bit closer to him that way. It hurts, but perhaps Louis is becoming a masochist, finding pleasure in the pain. 

With Harry’s absence, what used to be the possibility that it was all a game to the boy becomes a clear picture. Louis takes it as a fact by the end of the second day he spends alone and miserable in his room. 

When the morning sun wakes him on day three, his body is pressed into the mattress by the heavy weight of acceptance.

This is it, Louis thinks, sitting up slowly. His muscles, which haven’t been used much for the past couple of days, are stiff and cranky. He rolls his shoulders and leans his back against the headrest. 

This is truly it. Harry won’t show up. It was a game. Louis is an idiot, period. 

Somehow, it leaves him feeling dull and emotionless. 

He snatches his phone from the nightstand and sends a text to his sister. Afterwards, he opens his chat with Niall. He hasn’t replied to him in ages and writes out a long text which explains nothing to him, but asks when he might be coming around for a visit. That at least could brighten the rest of his stay here a bit. Niall is quick to reply, telling Louis how sorry he is that Louis is sick and bedbound and informs him that he’ll swing by in a week or so, depending on Hannah’s plans and such. A trace of sadness lifts from the beating knot in his chest and Louis exhales through his nose, slowly waking up fully. 

He should go for a run. 

That’s exactly what he ends up doing. 

His soles slap against the dirty, dusty path in a therapeutic rhythm. His calves burn as he pushes himself faster, faster, and faster, until he is running through the forest. His breath comes out in puffs and huffs. His heart beats loudly as sweat breaks out of his pores. He ignores the pain of his body and flies over the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind. 

His ears bleed from the music that is blasting through his brain at maximum volume, but he’d turn it up even more if he could. He grinds his teeth. He shouldn’t be, but he is listening to  _ Nirvana _ . That band should be banned from his life, yet Kurt is screaming in his head, causing all of the thoughts there to stand still until there is nothing poking his mind. It’s a beautiful blankness. 

Louis stumbles over a rock and falls onto the ground with a long stretched moan, his arms outstretched and useless. Pain explodes on his chin and elbows, and his naked knees sting. 

Kurt Cobain sings on: " _ And just maybe I'm to blame for all I've heard. But I'm not sure." _

Ugh. Fuck off, Cobain. 

He pushes himself up and shakes out his legs, spotting blood on both of his knees. 

"Fuck," Louis winces, as he checks his elbows as well and sees that they are bleeding too. His index touches his chin, which burns hotly at the contact, and comes up red and wet. "Great…" he grumbles, wiping it off onto his shorts. He walks a few steps before falling into a light run. His knees buckle, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters much. No physical pain comes even close to what his heart has been ripped apart by. 

Because he is now a masochist, he makes a beeline through the woods until the trees grow thinner and Louis sees between the tree trunks a bit of water reflecting the sun. He quickens his pace but is careful enough not to stumble over any branches or rocks again. 

The lake lays beautifully in front of him. The sight makes tears sting in his eyes as memories flow through his mind. He goes to sit at his and Harry’s spot. 

" _ In the sun. In the sun I feel as one. In the sun. In the sun. Married. Buried _ ," Cobain sings, " _ I wish I was like you. Easily amused. Find my nest of salt. Everything’s my fault. I take all the blame. Aqua seafoam shame. Sunburn, freezer burn. Choking on the ashes of her enemy…"  _

Louis closes his eyes and falls back onto the grass, stretching his arms above his head, his fingers twitching. 

His chest rises and falls as the song comes to an end — the  _ ‘all in all is all we are’  _ fading out. Then, the next song comes on.  _ Smells Like Teen Spirit  _ blasts through his ears and that’s fine. It’s not like he and Harry had danced to it one night in his bedroom; it’s not like Harry had tripped over nothing and tried to balance himself on Louis’ shoulders, causing them both to tumble onto the ground in a mess of limbs and bones; it’s not like they had laughed for several minutes, their laughter joining Kurt’s voice, before they were able get themselves back under control. It’s nothing. Louis’ eyes sting. 

" _ Did you know that about seven hundred grapes go into one bottle of wine?"  _ Harry had asked him as they were sunbathing by the river one sunny day. 

_ "No, I didn’t,"  _ Louis had replied with a snort. 

_ "Well, it’s true though. That’d be approximately 2.6 pounds of grapes,"  _ Harry had informed him further. 

Louis had laughed at that.  _ "Wanna bet I could eat seven hundred grapes in like two hours?"  _

Harry had joined in, _ "No way…"  _

The memory is a clearer vision than the blurry sky above. He not only hears and sees Harry’s laugh and the way he scrunches his nose when he finds something funny before laughing, but he also feels it with his entire body. The way Harry had slapped his stomach as he laughed his ' _ no way' _ or how Harry had wheezed beside him but also rubbed his shoulders when Louis threw up his eaten share of grapes. They had counted around three hundred before sheer sickness overcame him. " _ I’ll just stick to wine, _ " Louis had moaned weakly between heaves, his stomach turning and twisting. 

Honestly, since that day, he hasn’t even been able to look at grapes at all. When he was forced to go grocery shopping, he made a beeline around them when he passed the fruit section. 

Good times, he muses. Too good to be true. Little did he know…

He only gets up from his spot by the lake when the sun has disappeared and left him in a bed of shadows. 

On his way home, he doesn’t run or jog. It takes him a while to get back to the house because his legs hurt — he overworked them big time today. He isn’t much bothered, though, and enjoys the nature surrounding him. He takes the route that lets him avoid Zayn’s house, although it's the longer way back to his mother’s house. 

By the time he reaches the gate, his parents have arrived back home from work, their cars parked in the courtyard. 

Louis unlocks the door and before either of them gets a chance to stop him, he takes the last bit of the energy in his bones to rush up the stairs. He stops only shortly in his bedroom to get a fresh change of clothes before going directly for a shower, not lingering long. 

There, he takes his time to get every bit of sweat and dirt off his skin. He massages his shampoo into the roots of his hair with slow circles of his fingertips. It’s his first shower in a few days and it feels better than he remembers to get himself clean. He dips his head to rinse it all out before rolling his head around and letting it hang towards his chest, enjoying the way water splatters onto his tense shoulders and down his spine to his legs. The small cuts he got from falling down burn at the hot water mixed with body wash, but it's nothing in comparison to the pain he has gone through the past three days. He just grits his teeth and guesses he is used to it by now… he must be. 

When he is done, he towels himself dry. He rubs his towel over his head and twists it in his ear to get out the water that tingles his eardrums. He pulls a fresh shirt over his head and slips into another pair of joggers, leaving his feet bare. He applies deodorant under his armpits and brushes his teeth just because. As there isn’t much else to do, he heaves a grand sigh and pads back into his room. 

He opens the door. 

His body freezes. 

"Do you hate me now?" Harry asks. 

* * * 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! I hope you enjoyed chapter ten, comments and kudos are always very welcome, I'm so curious what you guys think of it! Thank you for reading!! loads of loooove xxxx


	11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry talks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! Happy Thursday :) 
> 
> this chapter is going dark places...so...this is your warning: tw - child abuse, kidnapping and murder.   
please read carefully and be safe!! I don't go into too much gruesome details but still, if you have any concerns or questions about this chapter, come talk to me on [tumblr](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/)
> 
> happy reading? happy reading.

* * * 

"Do you hate me now?" Harry asks. His arms are wrapped around his middle, as if he is trying to hold himself together. 

Louis stares, unblinking, at the familiar boy with whom he spent weeks, shared laughter, sang to, kissed, fell for. He is standing in front of him now, looking unlike Louis has ever seen him. No matter how bad his previous breakdowns have been, he has never looked like this.

Harry is a proper mess. His lips are raw and swollen, as if he has been chewing on them nonstop, and his hair is a tangled bird’s nest, curls all over the place, disheveled at best. His clothes don’t look much better, his black shirt wrinkled and hanging off his bony shoulders like a loose bag. Harry’s skin is paler than usual and his cheeks sunken inwards, as if he hasn’t eaten for days. For a tiny ridiculous second, Louis is worried about his eating habits. Then all at once, the truth boomerangs back to him and slaps him in the face. It’s a right wake up call. 

Harry is a ghost — he doesn’t have to eat since his body is probably buried below earth. 

It doesn’t make it any better. 

A hand squeezes at his heart in his chest until the air is cut off by utter pain. First, the pain blooms like a flicker of a flame. Suddenly, it develops into a full blown fire as if someone has spilled gasoline over his insides — he is burning alive. A tingling sensation spreads over his skin and he tries to tame the flames. He fails miserably. He can’t breathe. 

_ Of course I bloody hate you. Do you see what you have done to me? You see that? I’m burning alive right in front of you — it’s all on you. You did that. You set me aflame and now you’ll watch me burn. _

Louis wants to say those words, wants to seek deep within him for the cruelest thing he could fire at the boy. He wants to hurt Harry as he did to him, but as his insides burn, he comes up empty. He’d spit ash if he opened his mouth. 

"Louis…" Harry whimpers, taking a step forward before changing his mind and shifting back to his former spot in front of the bed. 

The way Harry says his name causes Louis to snap out of his pain. He blinks rapidly. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. Without a word, Louis shuts the door behind him and locks it. His knees are weak and trembling, so he leans his weight against the door and breathes out slowly. 

"You’re here," Louis says, his voice deep and raspy and the words not what his tongue was meant to spill. 

"I am, yes. I’m here Louis, I—" Harry stops his ramblings as Louis raises his palm to silence him.

But he doesn’t know what to say, his tongue in a twist.

"You found out," Harry states the obvious. 

Perhaps that is what they need, a reminder that they are now worlds apart, that the previous world in which they breathed and lived, laughed and cried, has died. 

There is no returning to it. No way back.

Louis knows this. He can’t un-know it, no matter how much he wants to. 

"I did." 

"You read my journal." 

"I did." 

"You’re still here…" Harry whispers, his eyes glassy. "You came back." 

Louis nods once, slowly. 

The silence between them is heavy, full of tension. Harry’s eyes roam over his body and Louis averts his to the ground. Goosebumps rise on his exposed arms.

"I’m sure you have questions," Harry murmurs. 

"I’m sure you’ve prepared your lies already." Louis snaps, pushing himself away from the door and crossing his arms. The fire that was burning him alive is now pushing anger through his veins. He cocks his head sideways, staring Harry down. "Because that’s what you have been doing this entire time, innit? Lying to me? Because that is what you are, a fucking _ liar _." 

Harry’s eyes turn wide as his lips pop open — it’s the perfect picture of innocence. But Louis isn’t fooled. Not anymore. 

"C’mon now… drop the act," Louis huffs giving an eye roll. 

Harry shrugs, his mask breaking, his features hardening around the edges. 

Louis smiles. It feels sick on his lips. "There you go…" 

"You’ve already made your mind up," Harry drawls, his eyes narrowed at Louis. He takes a tiny step towards him. "You think I’m a monster, I can tell. No matter what I would tell you, lie or truth, you wouldn’t believe a thing I said." 

"A monster?" Louis blinks, caught off guard. He takes a step backwards. "Why?" 

Harry too, blinks. For a second he also looks confused, before something visibly dawns on him. "You don’t know…" he says, perplexed. 

"I know that you’re a ghost," Louis says slowly, frowning. "What else is there to—" he stops. His skin starts prickling from head to toe as they both stare at each other. 

"_ Louis _…" Harry says in warning, taking a cautious step towards him, as if Louis were a frightened animal, ready to bolt any second now. "Louis… wait, let me… let me explain, alright? Just…"

"You," Louis’ voice is toneless and merely above a whisper. His heart starts beating hard in his chest. "You…" 

"Louis…" 

Louis’ lips flap open, moving without making any noise. Every atom in his body screams at him to _ run, run, run. _ A part of him becomes aware that it was a mistake to lock the door. 

"You shot your family," Louis whispers, his chest filling with shock. He takes another step back, his back hitting the locked door. His hand moves to cover his mouth as alarmed tears spring to his eyes. "It was you, w-wasn’t it? You _ are _ a monster. Oh my… oh my _ god _ …" His face twists as his vision blurs, a shaky exhale warming his palm. To think that Harry is sharing the same living space as his family, his mother and her unborn baby growing inside her belly - hell, even Matt - it’s gruesome to imagine what could happen to them. After all, if Harry is capable of shooting his _ own _family… 

Harry’s bottom lip wobbles as he draws in a sharp breath loudly through his nostrils. His face crumbles and a stream of tears flow over his cheeks. "Please, p-please, please L-Louis…" he stutters, desperation painted on his face. "You have to… to let me e-explain," he begs. He drops onto his knees in front of Louis, his shoulders shaking as more sobs fall from his lips. He sniffs, pathetically loud. "Please… let me ex-explain…"

They had toyed around with the idea, Zayn and Louis. Of course they had. And yet Louis had refused to imagine _ his _ Harry to be capable of doing such a horrible thing, to have such evil inside him when all Louis saw was a heart too huge for Harry’s already tall body. He had fought Zayn on his assumption that Harry was the _ Ghost Shooter _ , thinking it was impossible _ . _

From the beginning to the end, he had been a fool. 

He was blinded by Harry’s wonderfully odd, compelling personality. He was blinded by his smile, his green eyes, his laugh, his voice, his god awful jokes. Louis had fallen for him so fast that his mind couldn’t catch up with what was going on. If he had left his heart out of it and used his brain a tad more, he might have been able to work it out sooner...

Now it’s too late, his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces, beyond repair even as the other boy weeps at his feet. Sobs wrack his shoulders and his head is bowed, his hands covering his face. Louis’ own tears drip down to his chin as his body rips apart from shock, disbelief, and finally realisation. 

This boy… his boy… 

Harry… _ his _ Harry…

He needs to face it. It’s the truth. 

He feels sick.

_ Sick _. 

Louis inhales shakily, his fingers trembling as he fists his fringe and tugs on his hair, broken whimpers falling from his own lips.

That’s how he feels, after all. Broken. 

It takes a long time for both of them to calm down. Every time Louis dares as much as a glance down, a fresh wave of heartbreak crashes over him, crushing him, choking him. 

Louis wipes tears from his cheeks as his chest heaves and his naked toes curl inward. 

"I can explain, Louis. _ They _ were the monsters, not me. They were, I swear. I _ swear _ I can explain, if you’d just let me…" Harry rambles with a brittle, cracking voice. His head is rolled back to hold Louis’ blurry gaze glued to his. Harry sniffs loudly, blinking drops of tears out of his lashes. 

"_ You _ shot people, but _ they’re _ the monsters?" Louis demands with a quivering chest. He starts to feel claustrophobic with Harry so close and the door rubbing against his shoulder blades as he adjusts his weight. 

"I…" Harry starts and stops. 

"How come the police didn’t know who you were?" Louis asks, just so he has something to say to calm himself, to ground himself. Breathing is still the most difficult thing. His inhales and exhales are cut short. 

"Because _ nobody _ knows I exist," Harry says, wiping even more tears from his cheeks. Again, he sniffs wetly. 

A headache is forming behind Louis’ forehead. 

"What?" 

"I can explain everything. Just promise me that you’ll listen and try to… understand." 

Louis snorts. 

Hurt flashes over Harry’s face.

Louis closes his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose before refocusing on Harry on the floor. 

"I thought you said that I wouldn’t believe a thing that came out of your mouth, so why bother, Harry?" 

"I lov—" 

"_ Don’t _ ," Louis interrupts in a low snap. He shakes his head maniacally. " _ Don’t _ do this." 

It gives him the strength to sidestep past Harry’s kneeling figure and move in front of the balcony door. He spins around. "Don’t you dare tell me that you love me."

Fresh tears make his vision blur. Now he is the one who winds his arms around his ribcage as he is breaking apart. His heart rips in half over and over again. It shouldn’t be possible to feel like this. 

"But it’s true," Harry says, clumsily getting to his feet. He staggers a few steps before finding his balance. "I love you, Louis. I love you so much. I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever since my death, you’re the first person to make me feel alive. To make me feel anything at all. Louis, _ please _ , don’t take this away from me. _ I’m in love with you _." 

"You’re a _ murderer _, Harry." 

Harry flinches at the hard spoken word, as if Louis has hit him right in the gut. "I’m not. I’m not, they are the monsters, the bad people. _ Just let me explain. _" His eyes shine in desperation, and he presses his palms together like he is praying. 

Louis sizes him up for a heartfelt moment and Harry seems to catch on. He steps toward him, his eyes intense. 

"Just give me this today. After I’m done explaining, you can tell me you hate me, you can call me whatever — a monster, a murderer, _ whatever _. I don’t care, but please, just… give me one day to explain everything to you. I’ll tell you the truth, I swear it." 

"Why?" 

"Because the only thing I have left to lose is you." 

* * * 

"You kept telling me I was crazy for trying to find out what the symbol meant," Louis says, wrapping his arms protectively around his shins as he pulls his knees to his chest. He can’t bring himself to look at Harry, sitting across from him on the floor a safe distance away. Somehow, it’s still too close. Louis presses his back further against the solid wood of the bed. 

"I know," Harry whispers, casting his gaze down. "I was scared you would find out eventually and send me away." 

"When we first met, you said the house was haunted," Louis reminds him, staring at his kneecaps. 

"It was a joke. I was trying to see if you believed in ghosts or not. If it was safe or if you’d become suspicious of me. I never intended for you to find out, and I never intended to like you so much." 

"And here we are…" Louis swallows, frowning. 

"Yeah…" Harry breathes. 

Louis continues staring at his thighs. It’s safer like that, building a wall between them. 

"What do you want to know? I’m sure you have a million questions." 

"Well, that is true," Louis nods, bringing his thumb to his lip and nibbling harshly on his fingernail. "What does the symbol mean then? I mean, I’ve been guessing about it for almost as long as I’ve been staying here." 

"The symbol…” Harry deadpans, “_ that _ is what you want to talk about?" he asks with a disbelieving snort. 

"I’m not ready to talk about the murders. I still feel like vomiting just thinking about it… about you." Louis’ eyes flicker to Harry shortly. The boy is wearing an unreadable mask, though there is a shine in his green eyes that indicates he is close to tears. Louis averts his gaze back to his legs, biting down on the knuckle of his index.

"I understand," Harry swallows. 

"So the symbol?" Louis coaxes. He wants to get this over with so that Harry will leave and Louis can start his process of getting through the unbearable heartbreak. His heart has been bleeding ever since he found out about Harry and he’d like to lick his wounds without another set of eyes on him, thank you very much. 

"It’s a bit difficult to explain it on its own, you know? If you want the meaning of the symbol, I’ll tell you everything from the start. Otherwise it won’t make much sense." 

"Fine," Louis says, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Okay…" For an extended beat, Harry is silent, apparently preparing himself for what is to come. Louis holds his breath as well. "My parents had an accident just after they were married. They died, but came back to life in the hospital. I guess the paramedics saved them but… they believed something else." Harry’s voice is quiet. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. 

Louis raises his eyebrows at that, not knowing just yet what that has to do with anything. 

"Both of them said that when they died, they met the real God — the God of the Undead, _ Deus Malum _ — who brought them back to life to spread his message. They called themselves _ Children of the Undead _ from then on and said everyone who followed _ Deus Malum’s _ rules of life would be gifted with a new life at the end of their current life. A life in a new and better world, the world of the _ undead _ . Since life on earth is limited, they said it was more important to please _ Deus Malum _ instead of our God and Jesus H. Christ. They said that God and Jesus were made up by mankind and _ Deus Malum _ was very much pissed about that," Harry snorts, shaking his head. Blinking rapidly, he continues, "Well, that’s what they said, anyway. They went on to spread _ Deus Malum’s _message, and built his religion anew because everyone previously knew him as Satan or Lucifer or nothing at all and that was wrong. He is a God nonetheless." 

Louis frowns, scratching his forehead. "What?" 

"Yeah," Harry chuckles darkly. "_ Deus Malum _ is the God of the Undead, which is a new world that you’ll travel to when you’re dead. Basically, you live on earth for around, more or less, eighty years. Then you die and after that you live in a new world _ forever _ . This is just phase one — phase two is the act of dying and phase three is _ eternal _ life." 

"Wait, so your parents believed they’d live forever if they… followed this _ Deus Malum’s _ rules?" 

"Yeah… so to say. When they came back to life after their accident, they said they were blessed and _ Deus Malum _ had made them messengers. They supposedly would be rewarded for their work on earth later on when they entered the new world."

Louis nods skeptically. Harry shrugs as if to say, _ ‘what can I do?’ _

"So over the years they spread _ Deus Malum’s _message, going to churches and talking to people there — and you can imagine how that turned out, right? They were chased away, people calling them Satanists." 

"Which they were. In a way?" 

Harry shakes his head. "They weren’t, no. They were believers in _ Deus Malum _ . A _ God _ , not _ Satan _. Anyway—" 

"Wait," Louis interrupts, very much confused, "you said before that Deus Malum _ is _ Satan. It’s just another name?" 

"Yes, for people on earth. The church gave him the name Satan to spread fear of going to hell if people don't obey the church’s rules. Neither Satan nor God is real. _ Deus Malum _ is, though. People 'forgot' about him and started to call him Satan even though he isn’t. Satan and _ Deus Malum _ are two different… creatures. One is made up, that’s Satan; the other is real, that’s _ Deus Malum. _" 

"Oh, okay. Go on," Louis waves an impatient hand, his forehead puckered with deep lines of puzzled wrinkles. 

"After no sane person would listen to their bullshit, they targeted poor people like runaways, drug addicts, homeless folks, and anyone who didn’t belong to normal society. Gay people too, of course. They all fell for it. I guess they just wanted to believe in something, but I don’t really know.” Harry gives a bit of a helpless shrug and exhales. “Uhm Mary — that’s my mum — and Edward — that’s my father — built a small following over the years and saw the power they had over them. I mean, I wasn’t born back when that went on, but from what I’ve seen and heard, I’m right about that. They got addicted to the power and began telling those people lies, lies, _ lies _ until they were kind of brainwashed. I think." 

"Fuck… so it truly was a cult then," Louis muses, more to himself than to Harry. Zayn was right. _ Again _. 

"Yeah, it was a cult and my parents were the almighty leaders. People kissed their feet, literally. They used them. When someone wanted to join the cult they’d have to make a vow, first thing. After that they had to give every single item they owned to my parents. Of course, no one really had a lot to offer, but they were loyal and would… kill for my parents. Or die for them, too. They all believed their bullshit and thought if they did what Mary and Edward told them, they’d be rewarded with eternal life after death in a better place where there is no good or bad — a paradise of some sort where sins don’t exist and everyone is happy and has the best time. Just all that sort of crap, y’know?" Harry takes a long breath.

Louis nods.

"As I said, my parents saw how much power they had over the group. They used them to steal, pick pockets… just petty shit spread over all of Britain. They would travel by foot or hijack a car, well, until they had enough money to buy this house. Since they had spread the message that money was evil, everyone gave them theirs. See what I mean? Fucking hypocrites. So they bought this house to all live in, and they drove out to other bigger cities to steal and stuff. The symbol was theirs from the beginning. My mother created it. It means _ 'Prophets of the Undead,' _quite literally." 

"_ Prophets of the Undead? _" Louis repeats, the words rolling slowly over his tongue. He wrinkles his nose. It tastes bitter. "Honestly this sounds surreal." 

Harry sighs heavily. "You don’t know _ half _ of it." 

Louis doesn’t want to believe a word Harry is saying, his heart weighed down with enormous doubt. He could be lying, spinning a tale so that at the end he looks like a victim. But how could one person come up with such a lie? This is too complicated for someone to make up.

Louis has never heard of _ Deus Malum _. He learned about Satanism back in school when a girl wanted to give a presentation on it but was denied by the teacher. Everyone in class had protested because they were more interested in that than other kinds of world religions that are out there which they already knew a lot about. The other religions were common knowledge, but Satanism was new and sounded sinister, so the students were drawn to that. The teacher had stood his ground nonetheless, and they moved on to other, lighter topics. Some had asked the girl if they could see her notes, but the teacher had already sacked it. Louis was one of those students. 

"Are you ready for more, or do you need some time?" Harry asks quietly. "I know this is a lot to take in and process." 

Louis huffs and stretches his legs into a V-shape in front of him. "I need a cigarette, honestly. My head is already spinning." 

"I understand." 

Louis slips out onto the balcony. The air clears a bit of the fog in his mind, and as he inhales nicotine, he relaxes slightly. Now that he is alone and out of Harry’s presence, it’s easier to breathe. He massages his left temple with his free hand. 

He doesn’t know if he wants to find out the rest. It’s the kind of talk that flies right over his head. His family isn’t religious, so he isn’t either. Louis doesn’t know what he believes in, actually. Angels? Unlikely. Demons? A thing people made up. Hell and Heaven? How would that even work? Tarot card readings? Ha… yeah, no thanks — it’s nothing more than a funny coincidence, that’s what it is. Well, if there is a God, then how come there is so much misery amongst humans? War? Sickness? Heartbreak? Murder? Death? Why would any of that exist if there is someone up in the sky watching over them? The same stands, of course, for Satan — it’s a humorous concept that people made up. There is no proof of it

Lottie had gotten really deep into the Law of Attraction, the belief that positive or negative thoughts bring positive or negative experiences into a person's life. Louis thinks it’s just a load of bullshit, wishful thinking at best. But she always fights him tooth and nail, having been brainwashed by a married couple that spreads the message of this Abraham spirit. Louis had read a bit of the woman’s book that Lottie was kind enough to lend him — _ Ask and It is Given — _and was pulled out of it before it even started. Their little meditation story had rubbed him the wrong way from the get go. People love to believe in things because that way they can measure how good or bad they are doing in life, gain strength from a thing that doesn’t exist. Louis doesn’t understand any of it, but maybe he is ignorant. 

Therefore, it’s easy to see how people could fall into a lie that was spun by _ another _ clever married couple. The concept sounds appealing. Everyone is scared of death and believing in this _ Deus Malum _God slash Satan would give them a free pass to living in a new world where no sin finds footing while everyone else dies and vanishes. It’s a powerful thought. 

Louis brings his cigarette back to his mouth and inhales, ignoring the fact that his fingers are shaking. He hopes it will calm him down and bring him a bit more down to earth — if he needs anything right now, it’s grounding. 

When he is done, he stays outside for ten more long minutes, not yet ready to hear more. But when the wind picks up and grazes at his skin, Louis is forced to leave his hiding spot and join Harry indoors. He closes the balcony door behind him to keep the cold out. 

Harry is still sitting in the middle of the room, frozen in his place and rocking himself back and forth. He looks up when Louis sits down and lifts his brows slowly.

"Okay?" he asks carefully, taking Louis in. 

Louis nods, though he actually wants to shake his head. 

"Where were we?" Harry asks, ruffling his curls. 

"Uh, they moved into this house?" 

"Right," Harry nods to himself, "right, yeah. So when they moved here, they set up new rules. Nobody was allowed to talk to anyone about their cult. Mary and Edward alone were in charge of finding new followers. Nobody was allowed to watch movies, listen to mainstream music, nor were they allowed to have anything personal, like books or photos, from the life they left behind. And everyone had to be cleansed at the beginning. They made that rule up after they moved in here. So they’d bathe naked in the river, burn their old clothes, and vow to obey Mary and Edward and all that shit. For that they got to live here for basically nothing — as in money-wise — and they were just happy to have found a makeshift family… I guess. I mean most of them were outcasts, having run away or gotten kicked out. I have never been in that situation, so I can’t really relate. From what I saw, the last thing I would want to do is join a cult," Harry rolls his eyes and huffs. "Anyway — then the kidnapping started." 

"Wait, hold on. _ What now? _" Louis shoots upright and stares at Harry, who blinks back at him in confusion, as if Louis’ reaction is not reasonable. 

"Oh, yeah," Harry mutters with a prolonged sigh, "they kidnapped children from all over Britain." 

Louis shakes his head, dumbfounded. "No, that can’t be true. The police would have found out directly. It would have hit the news." 

"It did," Harry says. "I think? Mary talked about it with Edward but… I don’t know. The police weren't that smart and my parents were clever. You have to look closer. I think if you research the disappearance of children around the seventies, eighties, and nineties, you’d find a lot of missing children and baby cases,” he shrugs and clears his throat. “The thing is, they were smart about it — travelling far by foot, stealing a car, and then another in a different city and so on. One would look out while the other stole the child, and they’d switch cars to another stolen one and drive a long way home and walk on foot through the woods and stuff. Nobody would ever go on a child hunt twice — we were a lot of people back in the day. They were never linked to any crimes they committed, so everyone thought they could get away with anything. Well, I guess they were right. Someone got caught, but of course she was a good girl and didn’t talk, said she was working alone. She was trying to steal a car, and that’s it. I think she’s out now and during her time in prison came to her senses," Harry shrugs. “We never saw or heard from her again, anyways.”

"Why would a cult kidnap children?" Louis frowns, scratching his bicep so harshly that it leaves a burning sensation behind. "What’s the point?" 

Harry stares at him long and hard before glancing away and wrapping his arms around his middle. He starts rocking his body back and forth again.

Louis frowns. "Tell me…" 

Harry laughs shakily and swallows, his eyes darting to Louis before lowering back to the ground. He inhales as if to protect himself of what is to come and Louis does too, feeling that whatever this is about will be huge and top everything he has heard so far. 

It’s a sickening feeling.

"To bathe in their blood," Harry says tonelessly. He covers his face with his hands and repeats, "_ To bathe in their fucking blood, Louis. _" 

Louis might throw up. All of the air has been knocked out of his lungs and his stomach rolls with disgust. He stares at Harry, who is still covering his face with his palms, shielding his sorrow from Louis. His shoulders shake as he tries to gather himself but it takes a long while for them to recover. Louis’ heart is still beating fast, his body is frozen in place, and he can’t feel his fingers. 

"W-w-w…" Louis’ lips flap for a moment without sound. He swallows around the lump in his tight throat and tries again. "Why?" he asks, his voice matching Harry’s, toneless and just above a breathless whisper. "Why would anyone do that?" 

Harry inhales loudly and straightens his spine. "One of _ Deus Malum’s _ so-called rules is to bathe in innocent blood every full moon, so they are freed off their sins and can start the new moon cycle as a new person. Every bad thing they have done will be reset. Blood of a child symbolises purity, innocence. And every human is born covered in blood. When they bathe in blood, it’s like a rebirth." 

"_ That’s sick, _ " Louis sets his jaw, blinking hard. His gut is giving him trouble and he feels bile pool on his tongue, forcing it back down. "That’s sick. I don’t believe you. No, you’re a liar. _ Nope _ . Harry… the cult thing? Fine, okay, cults exist. Okay, cool, whatever — but _ this _ ?" Louis jumps to his feet, pacing in front of his bed, hands balled into fists by his sides. " _ This is fucking nuts, _ do you fucking hear yourself? Bathing in _ children’s blood? _ Fucking hell…" Louis tugs harshly on his hair. His breathing comes out in big puffs. "No. I don’t believe you," he accuses, stopping and spinning around to face Harry. "You’re lying. You’re lying… This is too much. It can’t be true. It’s too gruesome. You went too far with it." 

Harry nods before shaking his head as in afterthought, twisting his bottom lip between his fingers. "I wish I was…" 

Louis grits his teeth, staring the boy down with hard eyes. "Don’t—" 

"What?" Harry snaps, coming to a stand as well. They level each other with a fierce glare. Harry’s cheek redden. "You really think I made this up? Louis, this was my fucking life. I lived through it — I saw, I had to—" he clicks his jaw shut, grinding it so hard that a muscle pops out. 

"You had to…" Louis blinks, then takes a shaky step backwards. "You bathed in blood." Now Louis is definitely going to throw up. He holds his stomach as it rolls painfully with nausea. 

"I had no choice." 

"I’m gonna get sick…" Louis pants. Bile creeps up his throat, burning its walls as something in his stomach loops. "I’m gonna get sick…"

He swallows, but it doesn’t do much. Quickly, he marches over to the rubbish bin below his desk and squats down, holding his face in the opening and closing his eyes as another wave of sickness engulfs his body. Sweat breaks out of his pores as he dry heaves. He groans, gripping the bin until his knuckles strain and the rim of the basket cuts into his skin. 

"I’m sorry. This is too much, I… should have warned you or something," Harry murmurs by his side, closer than Louis expected. Harry’s hand touches his shoulder and Louis recoils from it as if he were burned. It bloody feels as such.

"Gimme a mo," Louis says through gritted teeth, trying to control the way his body is twisting with pain, his stomach muscles clenching violently. 

"Okay… okay…" Harry whispers and Louis hears him shuffle away. 

He presses his eyes tightly shut as he spits again and again in the rubbish bin. Nothing much comes up besides bitter, biting acid since he hasn’t eaten so far today. 

Louis presses his forehead against the rim of the rubbish bin and breathes in and out through his mouth. 

"Do you need water? I’ll get you some—" 

"Don’t go downstairs," Louis says, his voice echoing since his head is still lowered in the bin. He doesn’t want Harry near his mother or Matt, though — his nose wrinkles at the thought — he can’t keep Harry away from them. He is a ghost… he will go where he wants. Louis can’t stop him. _ Ugh _. 

Harry stays silent. Louis does too. 

The nausea stops at some point and the knot untangles itself from Louis’ gut. He sits back with a long intake of air and stands up on weak knees. 

Harry considers him carefully as he makes his way to the bed. He can feel the other boy’s eyes on him until he turns and sits against the headrest. Harry drops his gaze to the ground and for a moment looks very much out of place, awkward standing there, not knowing where to sit. Louis takes pity on him until he remembers Harry isn’t his Harry, but someone he barely seems to know. He swallows. Right. This is now his reality. The fence between them is still up and Louis, too, starts feeling awkward, coughing into his fist. 

"You know…" Harry murmurs, glancing around. "This used to be my room." 

"Yeah?" Louis’ voice is hoarse from throwing up bile. He clears his throat. It still burns and his mouth tastes like something foul, a layer of mucus on his tongue mixed with the taste of his smoked cigarette.

"Hm, I still lived here until you guys moved in. I didn’t know people could see me, so I was surprised when you walked in on me." 

Louis recalls the sheer look of surprise on Harry’s face and how on that day he had briefly thought it was odd for someone to trespass and then be surprised when the person who actually lives in the house shows up. He nods to let Harry know that he’s following. 

"I—" Harry stops. 

"What?" 

"I… was really excited when I saw you carrying all those boxes," Harry smiles thinly. His eyes shift up to Louis before they drop quickly back to the ground. "I finally wouldn’t be alone anymore," he whispers, talking more to himself than to Louis. 

Despite everything, Louis’ heart twists at the soft spoken confession. A thoughtful expression colours Harry’s face and for a moment he looks like he doesn't believe his luck. Louis watches on sadly as Harry returns back to the present and the expression is replaced by his previous sadness. His bottom lip wobbles as he stands and winds his arms around himself, rocking on his heels. 

It takes all of the courage within Louis for him to open his mouth. "Why don’t you sit?" he offers. Harry looks vulnerable in front of him, like a heartbroken child — not a mass murderer, not a member of a cult that… bathed in children’s — _ let’s not go there, not now, later, later, never. _

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth forms a round circle as if he doesn’t trust what he just heard. 

Louis nods. "C’mere, sit..." 

Harry takes careful steps towards the bed, checking Louis every so often to see if he has changed his mind at the last second. Louis merely nods again and holds his breath as Harry sits a good distance away from him on the mattress. 

"Zayn saw you," Louis picks up their conversation where they left off. "You saw him too." 

"Yeah, I knew he was a medium," Harry shrugs. "I was scared when you guys started hanging out and when you brought him inside the pub with you the other night… I thought I’d have a fucking heart attack. I was sure he’d call me out. He seems like the type, y’know?" Harry pulls a grimace, darkness flashing over his features. "I mean he came pretty close." 

"Yeah, I was pissed at him for pushing you. I didn’t understand his fucking issue." 

Harry’s lips curl upward, just a touch. "I know." 

"What did you guys talk about outside?" 

"I was trying to convince him not to tell you the truth. He laughed in my face, told me to fuck off, and then you guys came outside so…" Harry shrugs, fiddling with his hands in his lap, turning the ring on his index finger in nervous circles. 

"Well, I found out on my own in the end," Louis frowns, lowering his gaze to his knees. "I found your journal and all your, eh I guess, family photo albums." 

Harry nods a few times, staring at the desk. 

"Did you…?" Louis’ voice lilts upward as he leaves his question unfinished. 

"No," Harry says. "No idea how that box got in the basement. I haven’t seen it in _ ages _."

"That’s weird," Louis blinks owlishly at him. A nerve in his knee twitches. "Who…"

"Dunno," Harry shrugs. "One of the other ghosts maybe? To prank me or summat." 

"The other ghosts…" Louis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right… so those girls from the pub…" 

"Yeah, they were involved, too. We didn’t really get along that great, so I kept to myself in here," Harry glances around the room, "and they were so far up my parents arses that they wouldn’t have been able to find their way out even if they’d had a flashlight." 

Louis snorts. Harry chuckles. 

"We still avoid each other. It’s weird, I don’t actually see them around." Deep lines appear on Harry’s forehead. "Sometimes I think they only are allowed to walk free when it’s the full moon. I see them at the pub, mostly. Either they’re hiding or they live in another limbo as bodiless spirits." 

"Bodiless spirits…" Louis repeats slowly. He can’t believe they are having this conversation. The past few days have been strange. Surreal. 

"Mhmm." 

"What were you talking to them about at the pub last time? I saw you." 

Harry grins, but it’s short lived. "Told them to back the fuck off." 

"You were _ flirting _ ," Louis rolls his eyes. He hates himself a lot for being a _ tiny bit _ jealous at this point. It’s stupid, so stupid. He can’t help it though. 

"Well, yeah," Harry shrugs, chuckling. "I was trying to be nice. I mean, I shot some of them. The least I can do is flirt my way out of their harassment and anger." 

"Right…" Louis’ gut twists. 

"Sorry…" Harry winces. "I keep forgetting—" 

"Did they bathe in chil— in… blood, too?" His lips curl downward. 

"Of course. All of them did," Harry murmurs, and they both sober up after that. 

"What about your sister?" 

Harry looks at him, perplexed. 

"I found your journal and I’m not that daft, okay?" Louis frowns deeply.

"Sorry, yeah, it’s just weird hearing you say that," Harry inhales and puffs his cheeks out. He blows the air out of his nose. "Yeah, my sister… she, well, I loved her a lot. She was like an angel in this fucked up place. We were really close. I raised her more than my parents, I guess." 

"Did you kill her too?" 

"Fuck you," Harry snarls, jumping off the bed. "You still don’t fucking understand, do you? I told you that _ they bathed in fucking blood _ and you’re still hung up on the fact that I murdered them? You think I’d murder the only person I loved? My own fucking sister?" Harry’s face has turned red in a split second and he glowers at Louis from in front of the bed, sending him a deathly look. 

Well, honestly who can blame Louis for jumping to conclusions after everything Harry has told him? 

Still, Louis feels like a dick. No, Louis is a dick. A fool. An idiot. 

"Harry, I didn’t mean to—"

"Yes, you fucking did!" Harry fixes him with a burning glare that stabs a dagger right through Louis’ heart. 

"I’m sorry," Louis murmurs, quietly. He means it, despite everything. "I’m sorry…" 

"Yeah, me too," Harry says, huffing. "She was the only innocent one out of all of us. She didn’t talk much, but she loved when I played songs on my guitar for her and she liked to dance and she liked the flowers by the river." 

"The marigolds…" Louis concludes. 

Harry nods. "Yeah. She loved playing hide and seek and I’d tell her made up stories about a better world, a clean world without blood and pain and those…" his face crumples, "those fucked up people. My parents were the worst, of course. My mum birthed me here in this house and… nobody knew, you know? Nobody knew she had me, that I existed. I never went to school, never went… anywhere but this house. I talked to someone who passed by once when I was playing in the driveway with — doesn’t matter. But yeah, I was there and this guy walks by, yeah? So he asks _ 'who are you, little man? _ ' and I say, _ 'I’m Harry and you’re not allowed to walk there,' _ by that I meant _ ’the outside world' _ and he looked at me weirdly. I didn’t understand what he apparently didn’t understand. My father heard and he came to get me and told the man I was a distant relative coming for a visit with my parents and that man believed my father. After that…" Harry swallows, his chest heaving. 

Harry is still walking up and down in front of the bed. Louis’ eyes follow his every move, unable to look anywhere else.

"After that, my father locked me in the barn. So there you have your story about that bloody barn, alright? Everyone who disobeyed would get thrown in there without light, water, or food — nothing but a bucket and the smell of shit and piss and vomit everywhere. They’d lock me in and wouldn’t let me out, no matter how much I cried and screamed and prayed and told them I’d be good and never talk to anyone ever again. They wouldn’t have it. They kept me in that barn for days. I was near death when they opened that fucking door and hauled me outside, kicking me all the way to the house. Then they’d give me some old bread and I had to list every rule and only when they were satisfied, I was allowed to drink something and go to bed. They’d do that over and over and over and fucking over again until I couldn’t… I literally couldn’t anymore." Harry is crying by the end of his rant. Louis only notices his cheeks are wet too as he sniffs his nose and notices its running too. 

"Harry I’m so sorry…" Louis whimpers. 

"And then…" Harry continues pointedly, a calm expression coming over his face as if he is on drugs. "And then," he giggles, grinning at Louis. It’s a mad look. Louis doesn’t like it. "Then… came Johnny," he sniffs and laughs. "Johnny was a runaway. His parents kicked him out because he was too much of a burden apparently and he found us. I don’t know how, but he did and… I was sixteen, you know? Only just figuring it all out. I was so lonely and hurt and…yeah. He came and he was like a breath of fresh air. I fell for him the moment he smiled at me with all his crooked teeth and dirty hair. We grew close fast, and taught me the guitar, which is the only thing he was allowed to keep because my parents liked the way he played, too. He stole _ Nirvana _ vinyls from this one bloke who arrived shortly after him and we both would listen to them, over and over again. Those were my favourite times, when we’d hide in this room and forget everything that was going on around us. We’d just sit and listen and play and smile and laugh…" 

They both are a mess by now. Their eyes are puffy and red, leaking more and more tears. Louis sniffs loudly. Harry rubs a hand over his face. Louis doesn’t want to know what happens next.

"We slept together, you know? One single time, my first and only time. And then… I woke up the next… the next…" Harry’s voice breaks. His body gives up as if he is physically in pain and he drops to the ground, hiding his face in his hands as his bony shoulders shake with violent shudders. 

Louis can’t, by all means, hold himself on the bed any longer. The urge to soothe Harry takes the upper hand and every other emotion is forced into the backseat. He is by his side in an instant, rubbing between his shoulder blades and crying with Harry. 

Agony radiates from Harry in strong waves that drown them both, hitting Louis in the gut, causing his heart to clench and break for the boy. 

"The next day…" Harry repeats, his voice muffled by his palm. "I woke up… and he… he was _ dead _." 

"Oh Harry…" Louis says, pressing his face against the side of the boy’s shoulder. "I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry…" 

"I don’t know what happened to him," Harry whispers, resurfacing. "I don’t know, but I’ve blamed myself for it ever since. I thought maybe it was my parents, but there were no visible wounds — no cuts, no blood. I shook him, but his skin was so… so cold," Harry swallows roughly. "I’ve never cried so much in my life." 

Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry wipes his nose on his sleeve. 

"I’m sorry, Harry, I—" 

"It was 1993. He came to us in 1991. He was just eighteen when he died. My parents said it was because I…" Harry swallows thickly, "I poisoned him with my… disbelief." 

"Harry, that’s bullshit," Louis scoffs, his heart beating hard in his chest. "You know that right?" His hand stops stroking Harry’s hair.

Harry sets his jaw. 

"Harry…" 

"Yes, I…" 

"Harry, it wasn’t your fault," Louis takes his chin between his fingers and forces him to make eye contact with him. "It wasn’t your fault," he repeats slowly, gently.

Harry closes his lids. "We wanted to run away," he confesses quietly. "We made plans to take Amber and run. They knew. Someone must have spied on us and told them. They knew and they said because we wanted to disobey them and indirectly disobey _ Deus Malum, _ Johnny was punished. They made sure to punish me for that and after that I wasn’t allowed to be alone anymore. So Pops — one of those girls I talked to, had to sleep in my bed," he cringes visibly at that. "She’d like…"

"You don’t have to tell me, H, if you don’t want to…" Louis breathes, a lump lodging his throat. 

"No, yeah I know… it’s just… she’d tell me all of these things, her fantasies." 

"Like… sexually?" Louis can’t repress the urge to pull a face. 

Harry shrugs. "Sure, that. And other things. She was my mum’s favourite because she… was very eager to learn and please. She did basically everything they told her to do. She was nuts, I swear. When I heard her fucking giggle, I could have thrown up on the spot and then we had to share a bed. It was a nightmare. She had this major crush on my father and… I don’t know." 

"This is so fucked up," Louis mutters, sitting back on his bum. His hands slide off Harry, plopping to the floor with a dull sound. 

"I know…" Harry sighs and scratches over his face, wiping off tears and snot. "I kicked her out eventually, got punished for it, too. But because she was so embarrassed that she refused to continue sharing a bed with me." He smiles a bit at that. Louis is quick to return it. "Then I had no one. My sister was five, so she barely knew what was going on, still kind of carefree," he shrugs. "After Johnny’s death, I only had Kurt Cobain and…" 

"And?" Louis coaxes. 

"Her." 

"Your sister," Louis nods. 

"No, yeah her, too, of course. But her… _ her _!" Harry nods. "She was always there you know? Always. Even before Johnny." His eyes narrow as he thinks. "I guess the first time I saw her was when I was around three, I had fallen and I cried, but nobody came for me. Then I felt… this… coldness. I was scared at first, but then suddenly I wasn’t because I looked up and saw… her. And she held me and wiped off my tears. I remember her the clearest after Johnny died though, because during those two years with him I… kind of kept my distance from her. But after he was gone, she was there and she’d hold me and help me through it. We would talk a lot and—" 

"Harry, excuse me for interrupting, but... _ who _ is _ she _?" Louis asks.

Harry frowns. "Oh… she’s... I think she’s a ghost," he nods. "She died here before we even moved in, I think. She wasn’t one of them. I’m not sure who she is. She never told me her name. But she was more of a mother to me than my own, and more of a friend than anyone else. I loved her." 

Louis takes in the room as if she would appear out of thin air just because they are talking about her. "Is she still here?" 

"'Course she is…" Harry murmurs, tugging on one of the curls that dangles beside his cheek. "We haven’t talked for a while, though. The last time was when you went looking for me, remember?" 

Louis stops glancing around and slowly turns back to Harry. "What?" 

"That one night… you were looking for me and found me. You asked who I was talking to and… well, I talked to her. I saw her hiding behind the barn when I went for a smoke. You know I can’t quite sleep through the entire night, so when I saw her, I went downstairs. She’s pretty mad." 

"Why?" 

Harry shrugs, avoiding Louis’ searching eyes.

"Harry, why is she mad?" he asks more forcefully this time.

"I think she’s jealous of you." 

Louis wants to laugh and cry at the same time. "Of me?" he huffs, crossing his arms. "Yeah...sure." 

"She is," Harry says with a firm voice, standing up. "She’s a very emotional person. Impulsive. She told me stories about the outside world and told me everything, like that _ Deus Malum _ isn’t real and my parents were frauds, for example. She just didn’t like that I made plans to run. She talked me out of it after Johnny’s death because she knew they’d find me and kill me. She’s a fucking know-it-all, that’s what she is,” Harry sighs, quietly, lost in thought for a moment before bringing his attention back to Louis. He continues, though he hesitates a bit before saying, “I mean, she told me she can foretell the future.” 

“A ghost who can foretell the future?” Louis deadpans, his mind reeling.

What else has he learned exists so far then, eh? A guy who can see ghosts that have passed to the other world or wherever; another boy who is indeed a ghost and also a fucking murderer; a little ghost girl who likes to take Louis on night walks; and last but not least a ghost or witch or _ whatever _ who can foretell the fucking _ future _ . If someone had told Louis any of this a year before — no, fuck that, _ a month _ prior to — the events that happened leading up to this very talk, he wouldn’t have believed one bit of it. He would have scoffed and told them to fuck off. 

Ghosts. Witches. Fortune-tellers. What the fuck has his life become? It’s a fucking horror movie. 

“Yeah, that’s what she told me.” 

“And you believe her?” Louis’ voice weighs heavy with doubt. 

“_ Yes _, if I believed anyone, it was her. She’s very misunderstood and she’s very skeptical of others, too. She didn’t like anyone, but me. You know in such a big house where I was… kind of hated by the end, it was nice to be loved endlessly by someone, regardless of what I believed. It was nice to have someone like that from the beginning." 

A headache is building in Louis’ head. It’s too much information at once. Harry starts pacing the room.

"And then Kurt died," Harry whispers, directed to the ground. "It was a shock. I didn’t know the full story until we watched the documentary, but everyone taunted me with his death, telling me I was cursed because everyone I love died so soon. It was the end for me… you know? Johnny died, then Kurt… and then…" he inhales, shuddering. "My sister died, too. In 1994. She was six, you know. How it happened was… well, I was back in the barn because I kind of strangled this one hippie girl, _ May _ — yeah that’s her fucking name, fucking cunt, I swear it. Well, I lost it. She said something about Kurt and then Johnny and… it was too much, you know? I was in shock. I was hurting. It was an ongoing grieving process and she’d joke about me being hot for Cobain and losing my _ 'little boyfriend, aw'.” _Harry mimics a high pitched voice, pulling a pissed off face before dropping it, kicking the air and carrying on. “And that was it. I jumped her and strangled her and I can’t really remember what happened next, but I think my dad and this other guy got me off of her and threw me in the barn right away." 

Harry pulls on his bottom lip, still moving around the room restlessly. "So I stayed there, in that dump. I hadn’t had anything to eat that day and I knew I had to pull through for three long days before they would let me out, but then… they just didn’t. I can’t remember for how long I stayed in that fucking barn but I was already welcoming death, Louis. I swear that’s what I wanted. To die. It felt like relief. I wasn’t scared… I was lying there on the ground when suddenly the door opened, but it wasn’t my father looking at me, but Amber. She helped me up and took my hand and led me to the house. We didn’t speak, but I was weak. I drank, I think, a two litre water all at once. I swear I had never been so thirsty in my entire life." 

Harry stops talking and turns his back to Louis. It takes a couple of minutes for him to continue, his shoulders hunched. "Of course they found out. There were like fifteen people living with us, this house was fucking crowded. So they came and punished us both. I bit and kicked and screamed, told them to just take me, that I’d endure it, sure, but please to not hurt my sister. She had only turned six a month before… she was so young!" Harry spins around, facing Louis with a crazed look on his face, his eyes wild. "Amber was so fucking young and smart and lovely and she didn’t deserve it. They locked us in together and she’d cry and I would hold her and tell her stories just like _ She _ did for me. But Amber was too young and needed food and water, she wasn’t strong enough. She lost consciousness on day two and wouldn’t wake up anymore. I was screaming, trying to kick in the door, begging for them to at least release her. I told them she was going to die. I knew it. I just knew it… but either nobody heard me or they didn’t care," Harry swallows, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. "Then by day three… she didn’t react anymore, at all. I checked her pulse and… she was dead." 

"Harry…" Louis breathes, covering his mouth, pressing his palms against it as his wide eyes stare at Harry. 

He doesn’t hear him, reliving his past over and over again as he glares at the wall with a blank expression. "They didn’t let me out even then…" he whispers brokenly. "I stayed with my dead sister in that barn for two more days. The smell was…" he swallows, trailing off, shaking his head slowly, a horrified look etched on his pale face. "When they finally let me out, they… buried her and… that was it, you know?" Harry blinks down at him, but doesn’t really seem to see him. "They were emotionless about it, simply saying that she’d be a good girl to _ Deus Malum _ now and that her time had come sooner than for the rest of us. I couldn’t believe them. It was the last straw for me to be pushed away from all of the _ Deus Malum _ bullshit. They did their ritual and made plans to kidnap another baby for the coming full moon and rebirth. I knew it was going to be my turn to bathe with them. I couldn’t do it… I… I just _ snapped _. Before they went to kidnap a baby, they always had this party around a bonfire."

Louis remembers the pictures and averts his eyes on the ground, blinking the image away.

"I… went downstairs into the basement, got my father’s gun, and just… did it. I couldn’t let them go on, Louis. I just couldn’t. _ She _ was there with me and she agreed. She said it’d be better for them to go than me and helped me plan it in the span of an hour. To soothe myself, I sang _ Lithium _… like that part where—" 

"_ I like it, I'm not gonna crack; I miss you, I'm not gonna crack… I love you, I'm not gonna crack… I killed you, I'm not gonna crack, _" Louis murmurs, monotonous.

"Exactly,” Harry says tonelessly. He clears his throat. “She and I did it together, you know? I couldn’t take them all. Some tried to run away like cowards — they can kill babies, they crave to please this afterlife bloke, and yet they are still afraid to die. Ironic, isn’t it? Others fought back, but they didn’t stand a chance. It was all a mess. I can’t quite remember all of it, it went by so fast. I can still hear the shotgun firing, though.” He takes a long calming breath. 

“_Then,_ the police came. Someone alerted them, I don’t know. I had just shot… the last one, I guess and before I could even say anything — hell, I greeted them with a smile, guessing it’d be all over now — they shot me _eight_ _fucking_ _times_. Right here," Harry points at his heart, then to where the butterfly is hidden below loose fabric. "The thing is, I couldn’t move. _She_ was holding me in place. I just stood there and… she held my arms. She wanted me to die so I would be stuck here forever, I guess." 

He swallows, barking a humourless laugh out of the blue. Louis flinches at the abrupt loud sound. "It’s so bloody _ ironic _," Harry laughs, as a fresh tears roll down his cheeks. He looks at Louis with a manic smile.

Louis' heart pounds hard in his body. He doesn’t know what to do. 

Harry stares, smiles, before laughing again, louder this time but even more sickeningly. Then, he sobers and sobs. "It’s _ ironic _, Louis, because all I wanted was to leave this shit place!" he screams and kicks Louis’ desk chair.

Louis flinches again, a small gasp leaving his mouth. He gets off the floor, just in case.

"Now I’m stuck here _ forever _ and _ ever _ and _ ever _ and _ ever… _ " he chuckles sadly. "This is my table, you know?" He points at it. "And that’s my bloody bed. My closet, _ my fucking room _," he exclaims, huffing and shaking his head. He fists his curls as if he wants to rip them out. "I hate this house so much, Louis… so much…" he whispers brokenly. 

Louis doesn’t know what to do, what to say to make it better. 

He takes a careful step towards Harry, maintaining eye contact and sending a silent question with his eyes. 

Harry doesn’t move, just holds his breath as Louis steps even closer. He wraps his arms around Harry’s middle, squeezing softly and resting his cheek on Harry’s chest. He feels Harry’s exhale shudder against him, sending an invisible ball of warmth over his head. 

It takes a long time for Harry to reciprocate his embrace. When he finally does, he nearly crushes Louis. Looping his arms around Louis’ back, he clutches him as if his life depends on it and buries his nose in the crook of Louis’ neck, breathing deep breaths in and quivering breaths out. 

They stand for a while in the middle of the room, holding each other like they would fall apart otherwise. 

Everything makes sense now, but Louis wishes it didn’t. 

He wishes Harry could be just a boy that he met during his morning run or at the pub. Louis would have bought Harry a drink and tried his best to pull out his favourite jokes, coaxing endless laughs out of the boy with the curls and green eyes and dimples and soft heart. But Harry isn’t a normal boy. He is what he is and Louis doesn’t know what to think about him anymore. He doesn’t know what to do with himself either, but hugging Harry feels like the most appreciated thing, and something they both needed. 

Louis can’t even come close to understanding what Harry went through. What pain and sorrow he endured for his entire life, the loneliness that lingered into his afterlife as he wandered the empty halls with no way out and nobody to talk to. Louis wonders where Harry gets the strength from to even be able to form a smile. 

"Do you still think I’m a monster?" Harry whispers against his skin. 

Louis freezes. "Shh..."

"But — do you?" Harry withdraws his head and Louis tilts up his. Harry keeps him close but Louis can see the fear in his eyes. 

The truth is, Louis would have killed those people himself if he’d had the chance. Maybe that’s exaggerated. He doesn’t know if he could actually kill anyone, but the statement still stands. Anyone who hurts a child isn’t human in his eyes — they are the monsters. If something like this were to happen in this time and age, it’d hit national news and cause uproar everywhere. They’d rot in prison if they were lucky, and if not, someone would have killed them in their sleep. People who kill children don’t have an easy time, even in prison.

Louis places his hand on Harry’s cheek. His eyes flicker to Harry’s left eye, then right, and back. Harry blinks at him and settles his hand upon Louis’ as fear turns to something much softer. 

"I don’t think you’re a monster," Louis whispers. "You saved so many more children’s lives. They wouldn’t have stopped." 

"No, they wouldn’t have…" Harry agrees, leaning more into Louis’ touch, Harry’s hand warm on top of his own. 

Louis swallows. "I’m sorry for what I said before." 

"I understand, though. I might not be a monster, but I’m a murderer nonetheless." Harry closes his eyes. "I don’t regret it." 

"You sacrificed yourself in a way," Louis frowns. "You died so that other kids could live and they don’t even know… nobody knows what went down here…" 

"Hippie family…" Harry huffs.

Louis hums, his heart fluttering. He stands on his tiptoes and presses his lips softly against Harry’s. 

For a moment, he is afraid that Harry might recoil as he startles slightly, but then his lips press back against Louis. 

They aren’t okay. In fact, far from it. Louis still has to process everything Harry told him. There are millions of questions swirling inside his head. But at least for now, what they both need is a break. 

  
  


***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me? xx


	12. CHAPTER TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy Saturday! 
> 
> thank you so much for all your lovely, lovely comments. I'm so happy you guys enjoy this story, you have noooo idea how much all your support means to me! 
> 
> now,   
enjoy! x

* * * 

Louis watches his boy sleeping next to him on the mattress with soft fluttering eyelashes. 

His body is hidden underneath a layer of blankets so only his head peeks out. His dark curls are spread over the white pillow case and his breath comes and goes in even puffs from his parted lips. There are no longer dismayed wrinkles on his forehead nor are there tears glistening on his cheeks. He looks peaceful and young. 

He looks normal — well, he would if it weren’t for the painted dark circles below his eyes and the way his cheeks are sunken inward and ashen, nearly matching the colour of the pillow case. 

Harry had fallen asleep around an hour ago. They didn’t cut further into the highly disturbing topic of his family, the shooting, or other painful memories. Louis had swallowed his questions, delaying them for the coming morning. 

Harry’s waterfall of information is hard to digest. Louis wishes he didn’t, but at least now he knows the truth — the full truth. Harry had said there was more to it, that other things happened, but they could talk about it another time. Louis wonders if Zayn knew and played oblivious for Louis’ sake or to be as kind as to give Harry a chance to explain on his own terms. Zayn had guessed that Harry was the murderer, but Louis refused to take it as a real possibility. Who could blame him though? This shit is crazy and beyond anything he has ever heard in his life.

It also makes sense now why Harry didn’t want Louis to touch him intimately. The last person he slept with — the  _ only _ person, Louis reminds himself — is dead. 

Harry had to wake up next to his dead boyfriend in the morning, probably after having one of the best nights of his life. He must have felt so much pain when he realised Johnny wasn’t simply asleep…

Louis gulps. He doesn’t want to go there. He can already feel tears burning their way to his eyes and he has cried enough for a night — for a lifetime, even.

They haven’t talked about Louis’ nightmares or sleepwalking, but Louis has kind of spun his own tale around it now that he knows who Amber is and where she died. Zayn had told him it could have been the place where she took her last breath. But Louis still wonders why she would show him the barn. At first, he thought they buried her there and if he dug up her body she would be free, but that’s unlikely. Maybe she just wants someone to know… outside of Harry and their  _ 'family' _ . She’s young, yet older than Louis. Harry, too. 

He died at the age of nineteen in the year 1994, so he must have been born in 1975. That makes him now… forty-four years old. It took Louis a while to calculate the numbers; he has never been properly smart when it comes to math. 

Louis blinks down at Harry in gentle wonderment. Of course, he has stopped ageing since his body is buried… somewhere, and yet his mind still seems young. Like he hasn’t grown into a forty-four year old man, but stayed a boy with boyish needs, boyish humour, and boyish thoughts.

Louis can’t believe he’s got Edward fucking Cullen in his bed. 

It’s weird to think that their actual age difference is… so far apart. At the same time, Louis can’t bring himself to see Harry in that light. Harry is Harry. A nineteen year old boy who happens to have died twenty-five years ago. 

He swallows, reaching out and brushing through Harry’s soft hair. If Harry could have gotten away from this place and lived a normal life after the incident, he would probably be married by now with kids… and a dog or cat. Louis’ fingers falter in their rhythm. Does it bother him? Louis blinks. 

Harry’s true age is the least weird thing about him, considering that Harry is a ghost and his parents were sadistic cult leaders who killed children each month to bathe in their blood. 

No matter how many times Louis has thought it over, the idea doesn’t get any less unsettling or disturbing. Another shiver runs down his spine and he shakes his head with it. The feeling of thousands of spiders’ feet running over his skin causes another shudder to wrack his shoulders. 

He sighs and draws his hand back, staring forward. He just wants to lay down and get some rest, too. 

A sudden coldness overcomes him and he frowns, glancing in the direction of the balcony to check that it’s closed. It is. The window to his left is too, yet his teeth start chattering as if he were outside in the middle of winter. Sinking lower, Louis pulls the blanket over his arms and hisses through his teeth to warm up. It doesn’t help.

Louis’ heart begins pounding hard in his chest as a rattling sound comes from his right. The rattling sounds as if someone is having trouble breathing in and out. He stares into the partial darkness and holds his breath in his lungs to listen more closely. No matter how much he wants to deny it, it reminds him of his night adventure with Amber when she pulled him into the barn to hide from something, and there, too, was coldness and a bizarre rattling noise.

He sits up slowly. "Harry…" he whispers, "Harry!" He shakes his shoulders softly. 

"Hmmpff…." 

"Harry—"

And as suddenly as it came, it is gone. The rattling sound stops. Louis, who was shivering with icy coldness moments before, is engulfed by a wave of heat. It’s as if someone bottled up all of the warmth that was missing from the previous few minutes and sent them all at once in a ball of feverish heat at him. He pulls the blanket off his shoulders, drops of sweat breaking out of his pores. 

"What’s going on?" Harry murmurs, his voice sluggish and laden with sleep. "What are you doing?" 

"Just going for a smoke." Louis’ fingers are still shaking as he slips out of bed and onto the balcony, fetching his cigarettes on the way.

The fresh night air cools him down instantly and he leans his weight against the railing with a sigh. His bare foot kicks against the steel, the dull sound soothing and the motion somewhat therapeutic. 

It's quiet outside and the coolness that lingers around him allows him to breathe a bit better. He takes a fag out, traps it, lights it, and inhales, his tummy ballooning. 

What he doesn’t want is to think about anything that they talked about. What he does want is to smoke this bloody cig, go back inside, and find sleep. However, his brain has other plans, overflowing with information he can’t possibly process. It’s so much, so sinister, and so gruesome. Even now, he can still hear Harry’s voice confessing everything. It raises goosebumps on his naked arms and legs as a shiver zips from his neck down his spine. 

It’s no wonder he can’t sleep, imagining all sorts of things.

Even going to the bathroom before going to bed was a journey. Every flicker of the lighting, every oh-so-quiet noise, it all seems sinister and ominous. He wasn’t able to bring himself to look in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, felt on edge the entire time, and checked the light bulb every few seconds. If ghosts are real… what else is? How do you tell if a shadow in the dark is a spirit or just a trick of your mind? How do you know if someone is with you when you can’t see them? 

They haven’t discussed whether Harry lingered around with him in his room when Louis was oblivious to it. Honestly, they didn’t talk much more. The day had gone flying by with Harry’s long, emotional rollercoaster of a story. 

But, of course, there is a little part of Louis that doubts Harry’s words. 

Had he been too quick to believe him? How would he know if Harry is lying to him? After all, he lied before, so maybe he tried to spin the story in a way that makes him look like some sort of anti-hero. Perhaps it’s all the truth, but what if Harry’s motivations were a lie? Or at least parts of it? Since the case is nowhere to find in detail on the internet, Louis has no way of knowing. The police were sloppy back in the day, which reminds Louis of Kurt Cobain’s case although he doesn’t want to go there either. 

Harry could spoon feed him all kinds of information and Louis would have no choice but to take it as the truth. Yet, as he thought before, spinning such a huge lie out of nowhere must be difficult even for a very clever person. There are no loopholes in his story, nothing that rubs Louis the wrong way. The dubious part of him is just in denial that the people who lived here in this very house could do such evil. 

Obviously, as every other person, he has watched movies about serial killers such as  _ Ted Bundy _ or  _ The Night Stalker.  _ But those are just something you see on television or read about online or in a newspaper. Hearing it from a source who experienced it and seeing their pain makes it more real, more earth-shattering and unbelievably heartbreaking. 

That opens up the question of every ghost movie where the producers put  _ 'based on true events' _ before it starts playing. Prior to this, Louis didn’t buy into any of it, believing that ghosts are something humans made up to explain things that they couldn’t otherwise explain.

His grandma once told him a story about how in their village a clock would fall down in her friend’s house every time someone had died. So when it eventually fell down again, they just sighed and said,  _ 'oh no, who is it now? _ ' — not even his grandma believed that a ghost threw the clock on the floor, yet how else do you explain it? Because one day later, someone was announced dead. Natural causes or otherwise, it doesn’t matter. The point is, the clock was always scarily accurate. 

If ghosts are real does that mean werewolves, vampires, and mermaids exist too? Aliens? Unicorns? God? Satan? Elves? Goblins? Is Harry Potter real? If Hogwarts exists, Louis would like his letter now, thank you very much. He’d make a great Slytherin.

Louis takes the last drag of his cigarette and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know where to go from here. Of course, he feels for Harry. The boy went through hell, and Louis can understand why he shot those people. Like he said before, he would've done the same. Well,  _ mentally _ . If the situation  _ actually  _ occurred, Louis doesn’t know what he would do.

But where does this leave them? Harry is a ghost. Even if they manage to make things work, their situation is more complicated than Louis had originally thought. There truly is no way for Harry to come visit him. Louis will always have to return to this house in the end. Plus, there’s the question of whether Harry even likes him for him or if it’s just because he is here. If, for example, Niall had moved in instead of Louis, would have Harry fallen for him? Does he actually want Louis or just another person to spend time with? 

There are too many unanswered questions and it’s too late to find a solution for any of them. He kills his cigarette but stays outside for another moment, glancing up at the moon. It’s only half-full, so the next full moon is going to take a while to come around. Louis purses his lips and checks over his shoulder, from where Harry’s soft snores are flowing to him. He allows himself a small smile. 

They have time to figure things out, he guesses. 

However as he slips back into bed, leaving the balcony door open because of the heat in the room, he turns towards Harry once more. As he watches his sleeping boy, his heart tugs with the question of whether or not he is ready to love a ghost.

* * * 

"Are you okay?" his mother asks, her eyes scanning his face in worry. She puts her cup down and folds her arms on the table’s surface. "You look tired." 

Louis lifts his gaze to her briefly before dropping it back to his untouched breakfast. His appetite hasn’t come back just yet, his toast looking unappealing on the white plate. Sad. Everything looks sad. 

"Have you talked to Harry?" she pries further. She knows him too well and has probably already guessed where his mind has wandered to.

Well, that’s not true, his mind hasn’t wandered anywhere. It’s been stuck on the boy for a long time now and he can’t seem to shake him off. Harry has crawled underneath his skin, pulsing with his heartbeat.  _ Drum-da-bum _ .

"Louis, I don’t like seeing you like this. Did you sleepwalk again? Should I check with the doctor? Maybe medication is a better option. Have you done your meditation like he told you to? Louis, are you listening?" 

Louis rubs over his closed eyes, her questions causing his mind to spin even more. Lack of sleep hums in his bone and honestly, he didn’t want to join Jay at breakfast but Harry made him go downstairs. Now that they are open with each other, Harry had told him that he’d give anything to have a mother like Jay, so Louis had better appreciate her. But his sour mood is not about her, and not wanting to join for breakfast has nothing to do with her either. Louis is just not mentally capable of this: questions, worried eyes, assumptions. The worst part is that he has no plausible explanation to offer, so he is forced to lie. He hates lying to his mother. They have always been open and honest about everything. She is understanding and supportive but this… telling her the truth about Harry? Well, he isn’t crazy. He fucking knows she wouldn’t believe him and then would give him medication because thinking that his boyfriend — whom she can see with her own eyes — is a ghost isn’t… well… socially accepted.

He opens his mouth and closes it again, ending his attempt at talking with a pitiful sigh. He can start with what he is allowed to talk about at least. 

"I talked to Harry. He swung by yesterday." 

Jay nods, encouraging. 

"Not sure where we stand but…" Louis shrugs, lowering his eyes back to the toast. It still looks sad.

"I’m sure you’ll figure it out," Jay replies with a soft motherly voice. 

"Guess so," Louis muses.

"I have never seen you like this, Louis. If he’s… mean to you in any way, putting pressure on you…" Louis doesn’t like the suggestion in her tone and frowns up at her. 

"He isn’t," Louis says, remembering the day when Harry had begged him to stop touching him. It still makes his stomach knot to think about. He adds in a low voice, "I think I’m the one who pushed Harry too far."

Jay considers him for a moment. "Perhaps a break would do you guys good. You spend so much time together… everyone needs space to breathe, Lou."

"I’ll be gone in a few weeks," Louis pouts. 

His mum sighs, her shoulders slumping forward. "I’ll miss having you around." 

Louis can’t repress his snort. "Sure, mum. I’ve been nothing but trouble since I got here." 

"That’s not true." 

"It is. You said so yourself, sleepwalking, nightmares…" 

"We’ll find a solution," Jay says, firmly. "You can’t concentrate on university if you keep wandering your building complex at night." 

"Niall would freak," Louis says with a chuckle, guessing it's fine to joke about it since his sleepwalking won’t continue when he is back in his own bed. There are no ghosts living in their shitty flat. Or… are there? Louis blinks. Shit. This is what his life is going to be from now on — always watching out for ghosts. Great. 

Jay joins in and after that they concentrate on happier conversations. Like how Lottie sent them both pictures of her fiancé’s family and gushed about the big brown family dog. This leads to the topic of his little sister going to get married before Louis, which Jay teases him endlessly about. When he can’t take it anymore, he throws his uneaten toast in the bin and escapes upstairs, his mother calling after him to finish up the basement in the afternoon. 

* * * 

It has been three days since Harry’s retelling of his past.

Instead of letting it break them apart and create distance between them, it has done quite the opposite. 

The confession has created a bond around them, tying them closer together than ever. No matter how many times Louis reasons with himself that it’s probably not a brilliant idea to fall deeper into a hole he can’t — or doesn’t want to — get out of, it’s happened anyway. 

Because Harry’s past doesn’t change the person in front of Louis. He is the same as before: he laughs the same, he jokes the same, tells awful puns Louis can’t help but chuckle at. He still talks a lot about  _ Nirvana _ and Cobain. They watch endless movies, finally getting around to watching  _ Harry Potter, _ which Harry fucking adores, pointing out the ghosts. They are both ready to joke about it now somehow.  _ 'Guess I’m pretty lucky I don’t look like them, huh?' _ Harry had said as the  _ Nearly Headless Nick, _ the  _ Gryffindor _ house ghost, took a seat next to Potter. 

It’s probably their own unique way of dealing with it. Is it perfect? Well… no. There are still so many unresolved issues hanging in the air that sometimes at night, when he just can’t find comfort in the duvet, Louis chokes on them. It gets easier when Harry has his arms around him though. 

When they aren’t watching anything on Louis' laptop, they listen to music whilst doing absolutely  _ nothing _ , laying side by side. Here and there, they throw a topic of conversation into the sky that the other catches, but soon that too ebbs out into comfortable silence. 

Louis hasn’t dared to ask about Johnny nor has he dared to touch Harry another time in a way that could lead to more. It’s fine, it really is. But as they spend more time together, it gets harder to withdraw when their lips touch and Harry moans against his mouth in a deep tone. It sends every drop of Louis’ blood rushing south and yeah, well, Louis is only human after all. He is just glad that Harry trusts him. That is why he doesn’t want to cross another invisible boundary with him. However, Louis notices when he pushes Harry softly off him that there is always something in his green eyes that he can’t read. It can’t be hurt, it can’t be… yet it comes close to it. It makes Louis wonder if they are on the same page about things or not. 

Something else has happened between them: Harry has become so much more open about himself that it's a proper icy shock to Louis at times. 

For example, once when they are lazing in the grass by the river, Harry casually mentioned that his father once held him under the stream because he stole some strawberries from the kitchen. Louis never knows how to reply to things like that. Especially this time, with the way Harry had thrown it out there with ease as if he had said that his father once went swimming with him at the lake and definitely _not_ that he tried to _drown_ _his son _in the bloody river. Like it's normal. It’s scary and it hurts to hear that the person next to him has such different life experiences than he has. 

One night, while Harry was asleep, Louis had googled abuse. He still wishes he hadn’t. The information about abused and neglected children in the UK was deeply disturbing. Louis learned that a small sign of abuse is saying,  _ 'thank you' _ and apologising a lot, both of which Harry does. It only goes downhill from there to things like PTSD, depression, night terrors, personality disorders, and anxiety — abuse can cause all of that.

Plus, there are those daddy or mummy issues that people on the internet love to joke about. Louis had read an article about how a little girl had banged her head against the wall every day for hours because of self-hatred caused by her father telling her that she was worthless and shouldn’t be allowed to eat at the table with them. They had locked her in and kept her in the dark until authorities took the girl away from them and placed her in a foster home. Then, the self-harm had started, with things like banging her head against the wall.

There was another story about a girl, of age now, but afraid to throw up. She refused to get drunk nor go on rollercoasters and it was all due to her father kicking her so hard that he broke her jaw when she was ten years old because she had puked on the rug. She hadn’t eaten for three months straight and the fear built up to continue affecting her years later.

Louis finally clicked out of the article when they mentioned a patient who was abused for years putting his finger in his eye and stroking it to soothe himself. It was too much and Louis couldn’t take it anymore. 

Afterwards, he felt sick and shocked, stunned that he was so oblivious to such terrible things before. He was blindly living his own happy life while so many people out there in the world suffered at the hands of their own parents. It only reminded him all over again of how lucky he was to have such a great mum. When he joined Matt and Jay at breakfast the morning after his googling, he hugged her tight and didn’t let go for a long time. 

Currently, he is leaning over his desk, his hand hushing from left to right as he scribbles the finishing touches of the song that he wrote for Harry. 

Louis is proud of it. The verses flow with the chords and his fingers find the strings without difficulty now. The sound is happy and soothing and without a doubt gives him feelings of summer and love. Louis already knows that he will take this piece of music with him and carry it inside his heart, never letting it die and therefore keeping his love for Harry infinite. 

" _ I like how this is going… _ " Louis sings under his breath as his eyes scan the page, " _ my love for you is growing. _ " 

"What are you doing?" 

Louis startles hard, nearly falling out of his chair. He twists around, holding the backrest in a death grip as his round, wide eyes blink at Harry, who is grinning cheekily at him from the bed. 

"Hi there," Harry wiggles his fingers. 

"Fuck, you need to stop doing that," Louis breathes, clutching a hand over this fluttering heart, feeling it beat underneath his quivering palm.

"Oh no, never. This is too much fun." Harry stretches, extending his back and crossing his arms behind his head. He tilts his chin towards Louis. His bare toes wiggle. 

"Don’t look so pleased with yourself," Louis rolls his eyes. "One day I’ll have a heart attack and what are do you gonna do then? Drive me to the hospital?"

Harry grimaces. "Don’t be such a downer." Then, he is gone. Poof, vanishing right in front of Louis’ very eyes. 

He stares blankly at the bed, not liking it one bit.

"Harry…" Louis warns, feeling stupid for speaking to an empty room. He stands up. "Fucking hell…" he muses, gazing slowly around the room. No matter how many times Harry has done this over the past three days, Louis won’t ever get used to it. He takes a step forward. "I’ll just flop on the bed. If I land on your face, it’ll be your own fault," he threatens, but nothing happens. "Fine," he grunts, "I warned you—" 

" _ Boh! _ " 

"Fuck me!" Louis exclaims, spinning around to face Harry, who is now sitting on his desk chair, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. His green eyes sparkle at Louis in amusement and he giggles. 

"Oh, I love this," Harry moans to himself. Then, his eyes lower, turning to the notebook that is still open on Louis’ desk. "What have we got here?" 

"Nothing," Louis surges forward, snapping the book shut before Harry has a chance to read a line from his song. Louis presses it to his chest.

Harry raises slow eyebrows at him. "Nothing, eh?" 

"Yes," Louis juts out his bottom lip. "Just some meaningless… ramblings, that’s all. Nothing important." 

"I see…" Harry drawls, his gaze flickering to the notebook, eyeing it as if it were a delicious treat.

"Anyway," Louis buries his definitely not shaking fingers in his hair, "what’s up?" 

Harry shrugs, slumping in the chair. "Was bored, thought we could hang out. But seeing as you’re busy writing  _ meaningless ramblings _ … I’ll leave you alone." He sends another grin Louis’ way, then gets up and twists his arms above his head, showing off the length of his body. 

"No, yeah, we can hang out," Louis rushes to say, putting his notebook in his nightstand drawer. Harry’s gaze hangs on it as Louis moves to sit on the bed. Louis clears his throat. 

"Sorry, I’m just curious," Harry says, pointing to his nightstand. "Is it like a diary?" 

"No idea what you’re talking about," Louis smiles tightly.

"C’mon," Harry pouts. "You got to read mine…" 

"You can’t hold that against me." 

"I can and I will. But I’d let it go if I could just read some of yours. I mean… am I in it?" Harry smiles slowly. As Louis blushes pink under his intense gaze, his smile transforms into a lopsided smirk. "I promise I won’t laugh. How bad can it be, huh?" 

"Drop it, Harry. I won’t let you read it," Louis huffs. "Care for a cig?" 

"Nope. You go out for a smoke, and I’ll just wait here…" 

"Harry—" 

His smirk subsides as they level each other with a heated look. Then Harry shrugs and glances away. "I’m sorry, it's fine, of course. You don’t have to show me. I understand." 

Louis considers him for a moment. The song is finished, but is he ready? Should he or shouldn’t he? There is a good chance of both messing up everything or building everything anew. 

"I mean," Louis backtracks slowly, carefully. "I can show you what’s in it, if you’d like?" 

Surprise colours Harry’s face. "Are you being serious?" 

Louis shrugs, his heart picking up speed. "I wanted it to be a surprise for when I go, but I guess since you’d snoop in my notebook as soon as I leave my room…"

"Oh," Harry frowns, "what is it? I—"

"It’s…" Louis trails off and comes to a stand. He rounds his bed and gets his guitar from its spot on the armchair. By the time he is returned on the bed, sitting cross legged and having his guitar out of its case, his pulse is sitting in his head and nerves make his exhale come out shakily. His hands are sweaty and clammy, causing the wood of the guitar to feel slippery under his touch. 

"It’s a song?" Harry asks. "You were practicing  _ Thinking Out Loud  _ without me?" He pouts. 

Louis shakes his head. "Just wait and… listen."

He casts his eyes downward. His mind is suddenly blank. How does one play the guitar again? What was the first line of the song? How does he sing? He will probably sound like a dying cat. Fuck, this was the worst idea. He isn’t ready. When he lets his lashes flutter open, Harry is sitting in front of the bed, staring up at him curiously with his hands folded in the space of his legs. 

"You don’t have to," Harry murmurs, but his expression says something else. 

"No, I want to. Just need a mo’ to prepare myself," Louis says, his mouth dry. 

"Sure." Harry leans back, stretching his arms out behind him. 

"Okay, okay," Louis murmurs to himself, strumming all of the strings, trying them out. Then, he lays his palm on them, causing the sound to stop abruptly. "Okay."

Inhale, exhale, inhale —

His fingers find the right chords without his brain knowing what to do, somehow picking out the strings with ease. The melody brings him out of his headspace and his stage fright subsides slowly into a buzz of anticipation and warmth. He can do this. He’s got this. 

He wets his lips, his eyes flickering to Harry, who is staring back at him. As their gazes meet, Harry nods with a tiny, encouraging smile.

Fuck. 

Inhale…

Exhale…

Inhale… 

[ " _ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile. Whichever way the wind is blowing, I like the way this is going. _ " ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qlcXTjogJY)

This is a start, this is good. Louis closes his eyelids, bobbing his head softy in time to the rhythm of the song. He draws a breath in through his nostrils, only concentrating on the sound of his guitar.

" _ I like the colour of your hair. I think we make a handsome pair. I can only see my love growing. I like the way this is going. _ " His voice is tender, a bit raspy around the edges because he hadn’t warmed up before, but it adds more personality to the song. 

Okay, he’s got this. He’s good.  _ Good _ . 

His singing becomes a bit stronger, more confident. " _ I like to watch TV with you, there's really nothing I would rather do. Then maybe we can go to bed, get up and do it all again, _ " he sings out of his chest, feeling it vibrate. Although all he wants to do is look at Harry, he can’t bring himself to open his eyes. Instead, he shuts them tighter as his thumb drums on the wood of the guitar. 

" _ I like the way your pants fit, how you stand and how you sit, whatever seeds that you're sowing, I like the way this is going… _ " Louis' heart clenches as he remembers what part comes next. He inhales deeply between lines, preparing himself. " _ I don't care about the past, none of it was made to last. It's not who you've known but who you're knowing, _ " he swallows, his fingers strumming the guitar tenderly now, " _ I like the way this is going… I like the way this is going, _ " he wraps up the song, his heart beating hard as the sound ebbs and the guitar strings stop vibrating. 

Louis wishes he could vanish like Harry, but he can’t. After a moment of still having his eyes closed, he is forced to face the boy in front of him. 

Harry is still staring at him. 

That’s not a good sign, is it? Shit. See, he wasn’t ready. It probably sounded like crap. Now Harry doesn’t like his song, thinks it sucks, or thinks Louis went too far. He should have just burned his journal and his song — perhaps himself, too. Yeah, that’s great. That’s a nice idea, because he feels like dying right this second.

Louis nods to himself. This is it.  _ Fuck _ .

"You don’t like it," Louis whispers, kneading his lip. "You hate it. I knew I shouldn’t have—" 

"You wrote a bloody song for me," Harry exhales. "You wrote a song. For me?" 

Louis blinks owlishly. "I did. I now realise that this is way over the top. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry —" Louis snaps his mouth shut as Harry disappears. 

He blinks at the empty space left behind. 

Harry literally ghosted on him. 

* * *

Louis’ stomach is in a knot. Despite how much he loves Niall, he is dangerously close to burning his adored guitar. It’s what caused all of this trouble in the first place, after all. If he had never learned how to play, he wouldn’t have written that bloody song. Louis will make it up to Niall later, somehow. Louis shouldn’t be allowed to play on it or sing ever again. But in the end, instead of burning Niall’s baby, he chooses to let his lungs rot and goes out onto the balcony to smoke. 

This is definitely not how he imagined it going. He didn’t know what to expect — he has never written a song for anyone before — but he had hoped at least for a  _ 'thank you'  _ and a smile. What he had gotten instead is heartbreak. No matter how he turns the situation in his head, inspecting it from every angle, it stays the same: Harry doesn’t love him anymore, he hates the song, and Louis has made a right tit out of himself. That’s it. The end. Bravo. 

His song had turned from a love song to a break up song in the span of three minutes.

His fingers struggle with the lighter as he clicks it several stubborn times. A weak flame licks on the stick and he draws in a much-needed breath, sucking the fumes down his lungs. Nicotine usually fixes his wired brain, untangling his thoughts as his body relaxes. But it doesn’t do much now except make his mouth taste like an ashtray. He chokes on his second inhale. Roughly, he coughs into his fist. He probably deserved that. 

It’s too nice of a day to feel this much agony, he thinks, staring at the never-ending blue sky. The sun beams behind tree crowns, warming his skin but leaving his heart in a cold shadow.

Nothing could have prepared him for this. Rejection, that is. Although the world around him looks wonderful and inviting, the heavy layer of sorrow that covers his heart causes everything he sees to seem dull and gloomy, foreshadowing what is to come. 

A movement by the river catches his attention. His eyes snap down and he frowns, leaning forward to get a better look. For a second, he fears that another mysterious ghost has chosen this point in time to make themselves visible, but as he squints his heart tells him the truth: it’s Harry. 

Louis’ fingers lose hold on the cigarette in shock and he watches it drop down onto the terrace. He swallows, sending Harry’s figure another peek. He makes his decision there and then. 

He turns marches through his room and storms down the stairs, his sadness having developed to anger in a span of a second. Setting his jaw, he opens the terrace door and stalks over to Harry, but his indignation subsides as he gets closer. Finally, his feet freeze a few metres away from the boy. 

Harry is sniffling, his shoulders shaking slightly. 

Great. First he made Harry run, and now he made him cry. Perhaps he should not only be forbidden from singing ever again but also from being around people. 

"You wrote a fucking song for me," Harry says, his voice cracking at the end.

Louis swallows. "I did." 

"Three days ago, you called me a monster. And now you’re singing me a fucking song." Harry rips grass out from the ground.

Louis tracks the movement with wary eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to that. In a way, it’s true, but also Louis hadn’t known any better back when he first found out about Harry’s past. Harry can’t blame him for jumping to conclusions… right? This isn’t something like Louis thinking that Harry cheated or whatever — it was about Harry being a  _ murderer _ . Anyone would have reacted like that.

Louis steps forward to be next to him and plops down on the grass, leaving a safe amount of space between their bodies. He pulls his knees up and looks at Harry silently. 

Harry is indeed crying. His cheeks are wet and tears drip off his chin, falling onto the fabric of his shirt.

Perhaps it was only Louis thinking that they had gotten over that conversation and were stronger now. Looking at Harry, he has doubts that weigh more than rocks.

"I can’t believe you wrote me a fucking song," Harry whispers, staring out over the river. 

Louis scratches the side of his head and stays mute. Only when he feels Harry’s eyes on him, he dares to turn his face in his direction, carefully glancing at Harry. His eyes are glossy and his lips puffy and red. 

Harry sniffs. "You know…" he starts, "I thought I’d be alone forever. That I was damned to be alone, that it was my punishment for doing what I did. But then twenty-five years later, you march in, taking my life into your hands and shaking it. You fucking shake it and you haven’t stopped since." 

Louis has no clue where he is going with this. 

Harry chuckles wetly. "You turned my life upside down. All my beliefs… that I would never find," Harry swallows, glancing away, "love… or peace, or understanding. When I was around seventeen, I knew I wouldn’t get out of here alive. Running away was a nice thought, honestly, but I knew they’d catch me. Johnny and I planned anyway, perhaps to keep that little hope alive for one day where we’d live somewhere far away and lead a normal life like all the other people apparently do. Then, I died. It went so fast, you know? One moment I was shooting Ri and the next, I turn, seeing the police and thinking,  _ 'yes, this is it, I’ll go to prison maybe but I’ll explain, show them everything and someone will understand, this is it, my ticket out,'  _ but they shot me and I died right on the spot. As I was lying there, I thought,  _ this is good too — at least I’m free _ ."

Harry rips more grass out of the earth, his fingers curling around the strands. "And when I woke up, I knew something wasn’t right. I felt weird, couldn’t quite remember what happened. It took me a while to figure it out and when I did, I realised that hell isn’t a place somewhere below ground — it’s  _ on _ earth. This place is hell. My personal hell. And obviously I thought okay, perhaps this is what I have to suffer through and at some point it will stop. But it’s been twenty-five years and I’m still here."

Harry sighs, wistfully. "I thought I’d have to live a loveless life, lonely and in a place that I despise. But then you came around and… I was so excited to finally have someone my age or even another person to talk to. But lord…" Harry trails off, laughing softly under his breath as he glances at Louis with shining eyes. " _ Lord _ , I wouldn’t have believed back then that you’d take my life and bring so much light to it, shake it, turn it upside down, and make me start to believe that this place isn’t actually hell and that there is hope… even for someone like me." Harry’s smile widens. "Thank you for that. Thank you for understanding, at least trying to. Thank you for not running from me. Thank you for your beautiful song." 

His expression sobers, his gaze dropping. "When you played it for me… it was too much. I couldn’t handle it, sitting there looking up at you. I thought, how lucky am I and how did that happen? Why?  _ Nobody _ has ever done  _ anything _ for me and you come along and write me a song and… it feels like more than a song, Louis." 

"It is more than a song," Louis says, his mouth dry. He takes all the strength he has left in his body to speak the following words. "Haz, I, there is… I," he sighs and closes his eyes briefly. "I know I can’t fix your sadness or fix your past for you. I wish I could. I’d make it all go away and give you the life you deserve from the moment you were born. Handpick your parents and everything."

They both share a quiet sad smile at that.

"But I can’t. I… I love you, Harry. All I want is to make at least your future a little bit better — with a song or… I dunno, watching  _ Nirvana _ interviews with you, I don’t fucking care. I’ve never felt like this in my entire life either, you know? I’ve never had such a need to… be there for someone or protect them. Of course, I care about my friends. I’d die for them, I’d beat the shit out of anyone who tried anything with them that wasn’t right and I absolutely don’t like violence, but Harry… you’re…" He swallows, his eyes darting to the sky as tears burn in his eyes.

He chuckles now, too, the sound wet. He is getting choked up. "Fuck, I’ve never cried so much in my life either." He wipes away a single tear. "I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, but… nothing could have prepared me for this. I love you, Harry. All I want is to see you smile and be happy and I…" His voice cracks, the lump sitting in his throat making it hard to speak. "I just want to be with you as long as you want me. I know you’ve had a troubled past and everything that went down is so far out of my reach, but I want to be there for you — in any way you’ll have me. If there is one person out there who deserves all the love and kindness… it’s you Harry. I love you." 

He has no time to react. 

Harry jumps onto him and hugs him tightly, burying his nose in his neck. They both fall back on the grass and Louis grits his teeth as his head bangs against the ground, but he bears it — any pain is fine when Harry is laying on top of him and holding him tight. His heart heaves and lifts as Harry presses his lips to his skin in a sloppy, wet kiss. 

Louis rubs his back and strains to hear what Harry is mumbling between kisses. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," Harry repeats over and over, "I love you so much." He presses even closer, putting his entire body weight on Louis, but Louis feels lighter than he ever has in his life. 

His hands find Harry’s cheeks and he guides his face to be level with his own. Harry stares back at him with big eyes and for a moment the only sound is their heavy breaths. 

"Say it again," Louis whispers. 

"I love you," Harry replies.

Louis leans forward, propping his elbow on the ground, and closes the distance between their lips, telling Harry how much he loves him too without another word spoken.

* * *

They stay outside for a long while after their teary love confession. Harry is curled close to Louis like a foetus, his cheek pressed against Louis’ heart and his fingers playing with the hem of Louis’ shirt. Louis’ arm is looped around his body, his fingers wandering up and down his spine, the motion soothing to them both. 

The world around them is set in an orange glow, the trees shadowing the grounds and the sky beaming strongly. A butterfly passes over Louis’ head and he smiles softly, sighing. He feels more relaxed right now than he ever has in his entire life. His heart buzzes with each beat because Harry loves him and he loves Harry and no matter what is to come, they will get through it together. 

Because that is what they are now:  _ together _ . 

As if Harry can read his mind, he tilts his head upward and kisses Louis’ jawline. Louis smiles wider, flattening his hand on Harry’s back. 

"Don’t stop," Harry pouts. "Felt good…" 

Louis resumes and Harry sighs, pressing another kiss to his jaw before bedding his cheek where it previously was. A warm hand presses against Louis’ stomach and he sucks it in, the motion causing his shirt to lift over the waistband of his trousers. Harry rubs his cheek further against him and slowly moves his hand lower until it’s laying over Louis’ belly button. Then, his fingers curl around the hem and he tugs his shirt upward, exposing skin. 

Louis swallows, his heartbeat quickening. He is sure that Harry can hear it. 

Harry’s fingers walk over Louis’ happy trail, but before he can slip them inside his pants, Louis’ free hand shoots out to stop him. Harry lifts his head, propping himself up with a raised eyebrow. 

"Don’t you want to?" he asks, his eyes searching in Louis’ own for an answer. 

"No," Louis shudders a breath. Harry’s frown deepens. "You don’t have to do something you don’t want to, H. It’s okay." He smiles but Harry’s expression doesn’t change. He draws his hand out beneath Louis’ and sits up slowly. 

"I…" Harry starts, but Louis interrupts before he has to explain himself yet again.

"It’s fine, Harry. We can take it slow. I don’t want to pressure you or make you think that you have to do something just to… be with me. I want to do this right and on your terms." 

"Why can’t I suck you off though?" Harry pouts, looking over his shoulder at Louis. A hurt expression colours his face and that is not what Louis wanted at all. 

"Would you let me suck you off too?" Louis asks carefully, mimicking Harry’s position and sitting up. 

Harry blinks before his gaze shies away in the direction of the river. "No." 

"See…" Louis murmurs. "If only you suck me off, I’d feel like I was using you—" 

"You’re not though," Harry replies quickly, sending him another wide eyed gaze. 

"No, I know. But that’s how it’d feel to me. I want to do something for you, too." 

"We can’t. You can’t," Harry says, setting his jaw with a click. 

"I understand that." 

"But do you?" Harry lifts his brows. 

Louis doesn’t want to bring up Johnny but there is no way around it is there? He sighs and gives up, falling back onto the grass. He speaks to the sky, finding it easier than looking at Harry directly. "Johnny was the only person you slept with." He doesn’t need to say what happened after that. Harry knows that part better than he does, so he gets his point across without having to speak those awful, saddening words. "I understand that you’re not okay with me touching you like that." 

"You’re wrong though." 

Louis frowns.

"It’s partly because of Johnny, but also I don’t know if… it works." The last two words are spoken hushed and under Harry’s breath. Harry hovers over him. "This is embarrassing and I hate to remind you, but I’m dead. I don’t know what would happen if… you know." He grins boyishly and scrunches his nose.

Louis can’t help but snort a quiet laugh. "Seriously?" 

Harry nods. "Yeah. I dunno what would happen if a human and a ghost have sex." 

"Harry…" Louis whispers. "I can’t get pregnant." 

They both laugh softy and a weight tumbles off Louis’ chest. Harry puts his forearms next to each side of Louis’ head and Louis closes his eyes as Harry presses his lips against his. The kiss turns needy directly as Harry parts his lips and flicks his tongue in a kitten lick over Louis’ bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. 

Louis cups Harry’s neck with his left hand and buries his right into his messy curls, fisting them and tugging softly, causing a moan to escape Harry’s lips. 

"Let’s try it then," Louis says between more suckled kisses. "Only one way to find out." 

Harry moves his head back as Louis tries to go for another kiss. 

"I can’t, Louis, I really can’t. What if something happens to you? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself and I’ll probably live forever. That’s a long time." 

Louis represses the urge to roll his eyes, sensing that this is an actual fear of Harry’s. "Nothing will happen." 

"How do you know?" 

"Well, I don’t." 

"See…" 

"All I see is that you want to, but you aren’t letting yourself. Harry, we can stop at any given mo—" 

"No," Harry sits back. "I’m not ready to hurt another person and definitely not  _ you _ , Jesus." He ruffles through his hair. "Nope, I’m not taking such a major risk. Not with you." 

"Okay," Louis says, sitting up. "We don’t have to. We never have to. I don’t care, okay? It’s fine. C’mere." He opens his arms. 

It only takes a moment for Harry to crawl into them and embrace him too.

"It’s okay," Louis whispers in his hair, rocking both of them back and forth. 

"I’m sorry," Harry mumbles. "I guess being with me is complicated." 

Well… that’s an understatement. 

"It’s worth it," Louis replies. He means it so much more than he can Harry let know with simple words. So to make it extra clear, he holds him closer and presses a kiss to his cheek. "You’re worth it, Harry." 

It is what it is. 

* * *

Louis had forgotten the world, but the outside world hadn’t forgotten him… apparently. 

As much as he would have liked to stay in the little love bubble that is the safety of his bedroom with Harry and share confessions beneath the blankets, strum the guitar, and sing together, it comes to an end in the form of his mother knocking on the door. The sound makes Harry and Louis stop their giggles and share a brief glance, eyebrows raised. It has only been a day since Louis sang his song for Harry, yet it feels like so much longer. 

"Darling, there is someone at the gate and he’s been there for a while now." Jay pokes her head into his room. She raises her eyebrows at him as he resurfaces from under the blanket. "Please, could you see what he wants? He doesn’t seem dangerous but…" 

"It’s fine, I’ll see who it is," Louis says, untangling his limbs from the fabric and scooting off the mattress. As he ambles to the door, he throws a short glance at Harry. It’s fucking weird that his mother can’t see Harry, who is now smirking at Louis and wiggling his fingers. 

He restrains the urge to flip him off and smiles sweetly at his mother. 

"You shouldn’t be napping all day. If you’re bored, you still haven’t finished the basement," Jay tuts as he passes her by the door.

"I’m not bored. I’m meditating, like I should be, right?" 

" _ Mhmm. _ " 

"I’m on break." 

"Yes, I can see that," Jay murmurs, following him down the stairs. 

Opening the front door, his face falls. 

"Who is it?" Jay asks on her way into the kitchen. 

"Uhm, it’s Zayn. I’ll see what he wants," Louis swallows. He leaves the door ajar as he walks down the three steps that lead to the driveway. The gravel needles the soles of his bare feet and he pulls a face, falling into a light jog to hurry up. 

Zayn stops pacing on the other side the gate when he approaches and opens his arms as if to say,  _ 'what the fuck, man? _ ’ 

"Zayn," Louis greets him with a strained voice. When he checks over his shoulder, he sees a shadow move near the door. With another thick swallow, he directs his attention to the boy. He opens the gate and steps outside before closing it behind him, stalling to prepare for whatever reason Zayn has taken it upon himself to come and see him.

"I was worried about you," Zayn says. His eyes had followed Louis’ gaze to the house, but now they are back on him.

It causes a guilty feeling to unfold in his gut. Louis knows he was a dick for disappearing like that after running to Zayn for help, but he couldn’t bring himself to see him. He wouldn’t have known what to say, but now it has come back to bite him in the bum.

"What happened? Did you talk to Harry?" 

"Yeah, yeah I did." Louis wraps his arms around his waist, his hands clinging to his curves and his fingers digging into the fabric of his thin shirt. 

"And? Come on, spit it out. How bad was it? Did he hurt you?" Zayn scans Louis’ arms as if he is expecting to see bruises. 

Louis clicks his tongue, puzzled at Zayn’s assumption. "Hurt me? Of course he didn’t hurt me.” 

Zayn’s meagre shoulders slump. "Sure, okay. What happened then?” His eyebrows knit together. 

"We talked, like a lot. Zayn, there is so much that you don’t know about.” Louis shakes his head, his gaze cast down. He doesn’t want to go there, doesn’t want to think about it. It’s too much and it ties a knot in his stomach anew. “It’s different than what you think. We’re… I think we’re good.” He smiles slightly at Zayn, but the boy’s expression changes, his dark, shadowed eyes narrowed at Louis and that’s not good, Louis doesn’t like that one bit. 

"You’re stupid,” Zayn says with a sad shake of his head. “You’re a bloody fool for letting Harry inside. You know that he is a ghost — how can you say that you guys are good? You can’t be  _ good _ with a ghost, any ghost. It doesn’t work. For him maybe, but definitely not for you. Human-ghost connections are unnatural.” 

"I don’t think that’s true, though…" Louis’ heart refuses to believe that anyway. 

“We can’t let this go on, Louis.” Zayn’s frown deepens even more. 

“Can’t let  _ what _ go on?” Louis blinks, not understanding one bit. His insides intervene, forming a hard knot in his gut that pushes against the walls of his stomach. “ _ Nothing _ is going on. It’s cleared, seriously. Don’t trouble yourself.” 

They stare at one another. 

“Louis,” Zayn starts with a long sigh, as if Louis were a troublemaking child refusing to listen or perform a better behaviour at school. “I mean everything. Not only Harry haunting the house, but this little girl —” 

“Amber, his sister,” Louis interrupts. 

“Sure, his sister it is. I’m honestly not sure if I care. I just care about you and your wellbeing. I don’t think you getting close to Harry is a good idea. I understood it before when you were unaware of what was going on, but now? I don’t get it. I thought we were on the same page, Lou.” 

Louis is at a loss. What the fuck is he talking about? It feels like he is back at math class and everything is flying over his head. He doesn’t understand one thing about this entire conversation. 

“On the same page about  _ what _ exactly?” Louis’ voice grows louder towards the end. His heart pounds in his ears along with the sound of the rush of his boiling blood. He feels hot and cold. He shivers. 

“About Harry, Amber, the house.” Zayn’s expression clears, the lines on his face smoothing. He blinks at Louis lazily. “We talked about this at my house, remember? You asked if there was a way to get them out of the house and lucky for you, I found a way. I didn’t think it was possible, but I haven’t done anything but study my mother’s books since you left. Man, I told you I was gonna help you if it’s the last thing I do.” He pauses, considering Louis, then carries on. “It’s gonna be difficult. I have cast a few spells here and there, but never something so huge. I’m no witch by any means, but I think I can make it happen.” 

Louis isn’t following. A white noise starts ringing in his eardrums, and his vision begins to blur around the edges. He can’t feel the ground underneath his feet any longer. 

Zayn sighs. "Man, I know this sucks, but I need more time to practice. I once got rid of this spirit that was haunting my store, throwing books off the shelves and stuff — fucking annoying, that thing." He rolls his eyes with a huff. "But I was able to do it pretty easily because it didn’t have a body. With Harry, it will be different …" Zayn scrunches his nose in an apologetic way. Louis feels sick. "Plus, he isn’t the only ghost living here. That just adds to it. We might need help from someone more powerful than me from what I have seen, but perhaps it's doable. What do you think?" 

Louis doesn’t know what to say to any of this. Zayn’s words travel through Louis’ brain slowly, slurred together as if he were intoxicated. The white noise is blinding him and his mind. Nothing makes sense. None of it. He doesn’t understand. 

"Louis?" Zayn reaches out, touching his shoulder gingerly. 

With a sharp inhale, Louis blinks out of the blank void in his head. He concentrates on the dust, tiny rocks, and leaves that cling to his bare soles. It’s safer than to acknowledge his heart which is clenching and unclenching uncontrollably in his chest. 

"I… I don’t…" Louis stutters. "I mean, how come you want to... banish them? Why? I… what? You can’t banish the ghosts, Zee.  _ Harry _ is a ghost." 

Zayn raises lazed brows. “What? I thought that was what you wanted. I mean, you said so yourself, right? You were the one who asked if there was a way to ‘release’ them from the house. You said yourself that Harry is miserable. It will be better for everyone involved, including your family.” He licks his lips, his eyes boring into Louis’. “The sleepwalking, your dreams, everything will stop, you know? I don’t want to wait around for something else to happen. What if your mum starts sleepwalking when you’re back at uni? Or Harry gets bored and tries to do something, too? Or any of the other ghosts cause trouble? That’s what ghosts do Louis. They seek humans purely for their entertainment. Ghosts are selfish arseholes.” 

Louis shakes his head manically. “I’m not okay with this. I didn’t mean it like that. It was just a question, like all my other questions. I didn’t say I wanted them out of the house. We’re not on the same page, Zayn. I can’t let you do that. Please, just don’t.” His voice is rushed, strained, his fingers digging more into the gaps of his ribs. 

Louis is cold. He wants to go back inside. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. 

"Don’t be stupid," Zayn frowns, blinking at Louis. "I know your mother is pregnant. I can see baby pictures all over the grounds. What do you think will happen when it’s born? A haunted house isn’t a good place to raise a child, Louis." He cocks his head to the side, considering him for a long moment. "It’s best for Harry too. He’ll be put out of his misery." 

Louis chooses to ignore Zayn’s statement about baby pictures, that’s too fucked up. "Where would Harry even go? Banishing sounds so negative. It’s their home." 

Zayn shrugs nonchalantly, like he couldn’t care less. "Dunno, really. Probably where all the other ghosts live, or maybe fly into nothing? I study ghosts on earth, not where they go when they leave this shit show." 

"You can’t banish Harry." Louis shakes his head, taking a step backwards to put some space between them. He can’t breathe. "It isn’t right." 

"It’s not right that he is haunting this place." 

"Zayn, leave it," Louis grits his teeth, feeling fire lick at his blood. "Leave it alone.  _ Nobody _ will be banished from this house. It’s their home, too!" 

Zayn rubs a tired hand over his face. "Leave it alone?" he repeats. "No, Louis. You came to me, begging for fucking help." 

" _ Not _ about this." 

Zayn’s face clears of confusion. "You love him, don’t you?" 

Louis doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. Zayn simply nods, connecting the dots on his own. 

"Don’t be fucking stupid," Zayn whispers, the corners of his lips turning down. He shakes his head. "Louis, think about this. He is a ghost. He is dead,  _ bam _ , gone. Alright?" 

Louis’ heart protests. "I know what I’m doing," he says, jutting out his bottom lip stubbornly. "I appreciate you helping me, Zee… but I can take it from here, seriously. Harry is doing better, too, and I haven’t had a nightmare since we talked. The sleepwalking stopped as well." 

"It’ll come back," Zayn grits out. "This is only the beginning. I don’t think you realise how sinister this house is. A lot of things have happened and the ghosts will be coming for —" 

"Stop it," Louis hisses. "I’m done with this conversation. Thanks for your help but… no — no banishing anyone, all right?  _ Harry _ is innocent, his  _ sister _ is innocent. They don’t deserve to just disappear into eternal darkness or whatever." 

"Harry is  _ innocent _ ?" Zayn raises his brows. "You sure about that?" 

"I am." 

"I don’t believe you." Zayn shakes his head. 

"You don’t know him like I do," Louis defends, feeling like an animal trapped in a corner. “Everyone deserves a second chance at life.” 

“He’s —” 

“ _ Dead _ , I know. I am very much aware of that. I don’t  _ care, _ okay? I’d rather sleepwalk every night than send him away,” Louis snaps. “Honestly, it’s not  _ that _ bad. A bit confusing, fine, okay, but at least now I know who was responsible for it, alright? It’s not like anything happened to me.” 

“I see…” Zayn clicks his tongue, staring him down.

Louis stands his ground though, levelling the raven-haired boy with an equally fierce glare.

Neither one gives in for a long moment.

“I don’t like this, Louis.” Zayn’s shoulders drop, a sad expression overtaking his face.

Louis’ insides twist. It feels like he has to take sides. It’s unfair. Really, really unfair. He considers Zayn to be a friend.

“You don’t have to like it,” Louis says easily, his arms unwinding and falling to his sides. He is exhausted. He regrets coming outside. 

“Fine, you know what?” Zayn’s brown eyes drag to Louis’ own, fixing him on the spot as a new fire alights out of nowhere. “I know this will blow up. I can feel it. But whatever, right? This is your mess then. I have nothing to do with what’s going to happen. I offered my help. Find me when you come to your senses. Harry is a  _ ghost _ . He is dead and lonely. Don’t you think he’d say anything just to keep you?" He snorts, smiling sadly at Louis. "Just… think about it, okay? I’ll practice in the meantime. Goodbye and fuck you." Zayn flips him off, then takes a step back. 

"Keep out of it, Zayn!" Louis calls after him as Zayn stalks away on the dirt path, shaking his head as he disappears behind the trees. 

Louis stands by the gate, staring after him. His heart is sitting in his throat as he grips a pole for support. 

His gut tugs with worry, his nerves building up as he wonders what Zayn might end up doing.

* * * 

"What happened?" Harry asks as Louis reenters the room and closes the door behind himself. He’s still almost exactly how Louis had left him — underneath the sheets, hair a mess, chest naked. However, before Louis went downstairs, there was an easy smile on Harry’s lips. Now, concern is written all over his delicate features. It adds another stone of guilt on top of all the other stones that are trying to drown Louis in a river of emotions. 

Louis gives Harry a short glance before shrugging, a lump lodged in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but his mouth is dry. 

Zayn was talking out of his arse, right? There is no chance for him to actually pull through with his airhead plan, is there? Zayn had said himself that it would be more difficult because Harry has a body, that he probably wouldn’t be powerful enough to pull it off. Plus, there are more ghosts around the house, which would only make it even harder. So, he can’t actually do anything, can he?

It’s all Louis’ fault. If he hadn’t gone to Zayn and instead just talked to Harry first, everything would be fine. His mistake could cost Harry’s life — ugh,  _ afterlife _ , that is. What has he done? He isn’t going to be able to live with himself. If he had just never set foot in this house...

Fuck. 

Just fuck. 

This is a mess. 

A mess he made. 

Shit. 

Just… 

Ugh. 

What is he going to do? Is there even something he can do? Should he go to Zayn and talk him out of it? Should he say something to Harry? Fuck.  _ Should he say something to Harry?  _ It will affect him the most — him and Amber. 

"Who was it?" Harry pulls him out of his spiralling thoughts. 

Louis blinks at him, still standing frozen in front of the bed. Harry eyes him, his brows dipped low. The lump is growing and with it, a sense of guilt that makes him squirm in place. 

“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” 

He takes a calming breath. 

"Zayn," Louis says, finally getting his muscles to work. He crawls back into bed, snuggling close to Harry’s side. There is a longing hot in his bones to be as close to Harry as he physically can. "He wanted to see how I was holding up. You know… after I left them, I totally forgot to call them or anything… with everything that went on. So he wanted to check." His voice sounds bitter, even to his own ears.

Harry huffs, sending a warm breeze through Louis’ hair. “And?” 

When Louis doesn’t reply, Harry nudges his side. 

“And  _ nothing _ .” His voice is harder than he intended it to be. He softens the blow with a quick kiss to Harry’s jawline. “I told him we cleared things up and that’s it.”

He hates lying. He keeps his eyes fixed on the duvet. How would he even start a conversation like that?  _ ‘Harry, listen, babe. Zayn wants to get rid of you and your sister, but I don’t know how to stop him from doing that. It was my mistake and I’m sorry, but I’m sure whatever blackness is awaiting you will be fine.’  _ Shit, that would be the biggest load of bullshit he has ever heard.

He thought that they finally had found their peace, now that he knows everything. He thought the only thing they had left to do was work things through and that’s it. He fucked up big time. 

“Okay,” Harry sighs, fingers brushing up and down Louis’ shoulder. “I’m sure he will come around soon.” 

_ Ha _ . 

Louis starts feeling sick again. 

“Hm,” Louis nuzzles Harry’s skin. Not knowing what to say to that, he kisses a random spot close to his lips. 

“Everything will be fine.” 

If Harry only  _ knew. _

"You should go running with Liam," Harry says after a moment of silence. 

Louis frowns, lifting his head to send him a confused look. Harry taps his nose, smiling.

"You can’t huddle up here with me  _ all _ the time," he says matter-of-factly. "I mean, I love it, but… Louis, you have a life outside of these four walls too and you should live it." 

"I thought you didn’t like Zayn and Liam?" 

Harry shakes his head. "I have nothing against either of them. I just didn’t like Zayn because I was scared he would tell you that I’m a ghost. Liam seems nice from what I have seen. So you definitely should hang out with Liam. Go on a run. Come back all sweaty…" Harry grins. "And I’ll be waiting here for you." He shrugs, as if it were that easy. 

"I don’t know. Liam might kill me on our runs. He’s a fucking beast, more muscle than human. I can’t keep up." 

Harry chuckles. "You don’t have to. I’m just saying don’t like… push everything away just for my sake. That’d make me feel bad." 

Where is this coming from? Wasn’t he jealous when Louis had started to become friends with the couple? Or was that only because he was scared Zayn would expose him? 

"Don’t worry about me." Louis pecks Harry’s lips before nuzzling into his neck and closing his eyes with a sigh. "At the moment I don’t want to see Zayn." 

"Fine, okay…" Harry murmurs. "Any other reason than Liam trying to kill you?" 

Louis shrugs, his neck tingling with nerves as he lies yet again. "No, nothing. Just… nothing, really."

"Alright," Harry drawls, rubbing between Louis’ shoulder blades. "Okay." 

“Do you want to watch another episode?” Louis asks, relieved when Harry nods. 

However, as the actors perform on screen, Louis’ mind zones out. While Harry is focused on the storyline, Louis feels numb in his arms, not knowing how much longer they have together. He hopes with all his heart that Zayn was just trying to scare Louis because he was mad about being ignored. 

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s it. 

Surely.

Ugh.

They watch three episodes, but Louis wouldn’t be able to recall what happened on screen if his life depended on it. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is [Louis' song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qlcXTjogJY) if you haven't had the chance to give it a listen! 
> 
> [and here is the fic, post, if you'd like to share!](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/post/188726753141/join-me-in-the-afterlife-by-guccikings)
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed chapter 12 - if you did, comments and kudos are very welcome and sooo appreciated! makes me the happiest person to see your reactions. 
> 
> Have a great weekend! xxxx


	13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Reading!

* * * 

"Can you walk through walls?" Louis asks as he pulls his joggers up over his legs. He lets the waistband snap against his happy trail and glances at Harry with raised brows. 

The other boy rolls onto his side and props one elbow on the mattress, scratching his tummy with slow fingers, his black shirt riding up his navel. 

"No," Harry pouts and sighs, actually appearing crestfallen about it. 

Louis snorts, amused. "What about objects? If I threw something at you, would it just pass through your body?" 

Harry shakes his head and purses his lips. "I’ve never tried that." 

Louis grins. “But you’ve tried walking through walls?” 

His eyes narrow. “Not gonna tell you.” 

“Oh, you so did,” Louis barks a laugh. “You so, so did!” 

“I might have,” Harry gives in, reluctant. 

Louis snickers, the image of Harry waltzing straight into a wall sending another bubbling sound past his lips. 

“ _ Heyyyy _ !” Harry draws the word out, pouting adorably. 

Fuck. Harry is lovely. 

Louis calms himself down with a grand exhale. "We could try, right? I could throw something at you. Then we’d know. Can’t hurt more than walking… walking into a wall.” Oh, this is too good, honestly. He won’t ever let Harry live it down. 

"Of course we can. Just make sure it’s something really heavy, like a chair or a massive book." 

"Why?"

"Because pillows are boring?" Harry scrunches his nose. 

Louis laughs, puzzled. "I’m not going to throw a chair at you." 

"We could stage a fight." 

"Sexy." 

" _ Hmm… _ " 

They laugh again for a brief moment. 

"Let's do it then." Harry gets up and ambles over to Louis’ bookshelf, his eyes roaming over the pitiful collection. "This is rather disappointing." He tugs on his earlobe and steps closer as he studies the titles. "What the fuck is  _ The Chronicles of Narnia _ ?" 

"It’s a fantasy book. I think you’d like it," Louis shrugs. “It was published around 1950 or so by _ C.S. Lewis _ .” 

"Why don’t I see  _ Hemingway _ ,  _ Oscar Wilde, _ or  _ Jane Austen _ ?" he tuts, shaking his head at Louis. 

"Oh, fuck off. I don’t have the attention span for reading, alright? I made it through  _ Harry Potter  _ at least.  _ And _ the fifth book was super slow." 

"I thought you liked  _ Harry Potter _ ?" 

"I love it. I’m just saying…" Louis gives a listless shrug. “Anyway, how do you know of Oscar Wilde and all those others if no media was allowed in this house?” 

“Didn’t I mention that my parents were professors before they became fucked up cult leaders and made up a gGod?” Harry scratches his chin, blinking slowly at Louis.

“Er… no.” 

“Well there you go. Must have slipped my mind.”

Louis snorts. Harry smiles slightly.

“They taught me to read and write, bless them. I mostly learned from those kinds of books. They weren’t much for children’s books or fairy tales.  _ So… _ ” he trails off, shifting his weight awkwardly. “It’s not like I’m completely stupid, y’know?”

“Harry, I never said that.” Louis frowns at Harry. He actually thinks Harry is quite the opposite of stupid. 

“Anyway… then this will have to do," Harry sighs and takes Narnia off the shelf, handing it to Louis. Their fingers brush as Louis takes the book from him, the touch leaving a cold tingling sensation on the side of his hand. 

"Are you sure?" Louis weighs the book in his hands. It’s reasonably heavy.

"Just do it. It can’t hurt too badly if it doesn’t pass through." 

"Okay…" Louis isn’t convinced at all. He turns reluctantly to Harry, who stops in front of the bed. 

"Do it." Harry grins, spreading his legs for a better stance or something. 

Louis cringes and glances at the book in his hands. 

"Louis."

"Fine!" Louis grits and throws the book loosely from his wrist, aiming for the upper half of Harry’s stomach rather than his head. 

It flies across the air. He holds his breath. 

"Oh  _ f-fuck… _ " Harry groans as the book hits his abdomen before tumbling to the ground with a dull thud. He pouts at the book. "Is your question now answered?" 

Louis can’t repress a snorted laugh as he goes to pick the book up. "I thought it wouldn’t hurt you?" 

Harry is still holding his middle.

"I’m sorry…" he bites down on his quivering lip. “I really,  _ really _ am sorry.” 

"Are you though?" Harry straightens his spine, giving him a dark look. “You don’t look very sorry to me.” 

"Not a tiny bit, actually." Louis smirks smugly and erupts into a fit of shrieking, surprised giggles as Harry lunges at him, throwing both of their bodies onto the bed. 

"You will be now…" Harry growls wolfishly into his neck. 

* * *

"I… hate you… so much…" Louis pants, jogging behind Liam, who is sprinting like a panther ahead of him. 

Obviously, it wasn’t Louis’ idea to go for a run with Liam. But Harry had pushed him to do it, reminding him of their talk that the world outside of the house still exists. He said Louis should use it, live in it, and adore it because Harry can’t himself. Louis’ guess is that he will use that excuse for anything that is to come in the future, too. 

Therefore, he doesn’t only hate Liam; he also fucking hates Harry. Both of them want him dead apparently. Louis should have said no and stayed in bed or gone jogging alone. But it’s too late now and his lungs are clenching as he gasps for breath, his flanks stinging. 

"You don’t," Liam sing-songs matter-of-factly over his shoulder. He turns and jogs backwards like,  _ ‘oh look at me — I’m Liam, I can run backwards without trouble, look at my muscles, look how fast I still am, I am a bodybuilder, I work at a gym, I am a sports God’. _ Ugh. At last, however, Liam slows his steps, giving Louis time to push himself forward to catch up. "I’m surprised you came over this morning," he says as they jog side by side. 

"Yeah… well…" Louis presses through gritted teeth. He sweeps his fringe to the side, cursing inwardly at himself for forgetting his damn headband. "I felt like dying today." 

"It’s not that bad, is it?" 

Louis sends him a glare and Liam laughs breathlessly. They jog in silence after that until they approach a crossroad and take a right turn. 

It’s ten in the morning and even in the shadows of the forest, the sun is burning hot, grilling Louis’ nape. 

"Zayn is worried about you," Liam says as they pass a bench — Louis gives it a longing look and for a moment doesn’t realise what Liam has just said. 

He blinks at the boy who is already lifting his eyebrows expectantly at him. 

"He shouldn’t be," he scoffs, urging his feet on to go faster. His lungs expand. “It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.” 

"Zayn only means good, you know? He wants to help." 

Help. _Ha_. Sure. 

"I know," Louis pushes out between puffs of air. "I just… don’t need his help.”

"How is Harry?" 

Louis softens, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothing as he smiles at the ground. "Good, yeah…"

"That’s great, Louis." 

Surprised, Louis looks up at Liam, finding a genuine smile pasted on his face. "I thought you were with Zayn on this?"

"Why? Because he’s my boyfriend? I don’t have to agree with everything that comes out of his mouth, Lou. I mean… everyone has their experiences and opinions and he is acting based on his own, you know? Zayn grew up wary of ghosts, hearing stories from his family, seeing ghosts doing bad things with his own eyes. I’ve met a few ghosts in my life, but they weren’t evil — just dead. So I’m no expert in this field. I just pity them. It must be a lonely life." 

"Thank you for seeing it that way," Louis nods, relief causing new energy to buzz through his body. 

"You’re welcome." 

They smile at each other for a moment, then Liam sticks out his tongue at him. " _ Race you _ !" he calls before spinning ahead. 

Louis rolls his eyes, but runs after him nonetheless. 

* * * 

There are voices floating through the foyer as Louis kicks off his dirty trainers and sweeps his damp fringe to the side. He stills completely, hearing his mother’s laugh accompanied by the sound of cups being set on the table with two clinks. 

He frowns and takes a step closer, scratching his sweaty neck.  _ No way in hell _ is Harry having tea with his mother. It’d be a first. 

His confusion clears as he finally steps into the kitchen. His eyebrows jump to his hairline. 

"There he is!" Niall beams at him, scrambling off his chair and rounding the kitchen island with outstretched arms. Before Louis can get a word out, he’s being pulled against Niall’s chest and two strong arms are squeezing all of the air out of his lungs. “My best friend!” Niall squeals in his ear. 

" _ Shit! _ " Louis giggles, not minding the ringing that Niall’s yell has caused. He hugs him back just as fiercely. "I can’t believe it! What are you doing here?" 

"Oh, of course he forgot I was coming," Niall laughs easily, draping an arm around his shoulder and turning both of their bodies toward Jay, who smiles at them from her seat at the kitchen table. "I expected roses and champagne," Niall says kissing Louis’ temple wetly. Louis moves his head away and wrinkles his nose, another laugh bubbling in his throat. 

"Yeah, yeah sure. Of course you did, princess." Louis pushes Niall off him, ruffling his hair. 

"I missed you, mate." 

"Obviously you did, can’t live without me," Louis grins. "That reminds me — where is Hannah?" He glances at the kitchen table, but his mother is the only person in the room with them. "Oh, so you guys  _ aren’t _ sewn together or is she just hiding somewhere?"

Niall laughs again loudly. It hits Louis there and then that he missed Niall just as much as Niall missed him, homesickness seeping through his bones. Truly, Louis has missed his best mate and his bubbly personality. It brings a fresh breeze of optimism into this house and god knows they all need that. 

"Not yet. She’s visiting her mum in Cardiff. I went with her for like two days. It was nice." 

"Nice?" Louis’ nose wrinkles upward. ‘Nice’ is never a good sign. 

"Yeah. I mean, her mum is a lawyer so she’s a bit uptight. But if I was able to make Professor Grumpy Pants crack a smile in the morning, I’ll be her favourite in no time. It’s my Irish charm. Nobody can resist it." 

"I believe it," Louis smiles. “She won’t stand a chance. It’s always good to know a lawyer, too.” 

“What are you implying, eh?” Niall raises his eyebrows at him, but never loses his grin.

“Just saying, Ni,” Louis shrugs faux-nonchalantly.

They grin at one another, both knowing that Niall could work his way out of anything. He is probably the only person in the world who wouldn’t need a lawyer, only his smile and quick wit. It’s been proven time and time again. That’s why Niall is his emergency contact. 

"Why do you reek?" Niall asks, pinching his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. 

"Oh,” Louis blinks, already having banned his earlier exercise from his mind, “right. I went for a run.  _ Okay, _ don’t look at me like that." Louis pouts at his best friend, who has never seen a gym from the inside more than a handful of times. "I’m getting better." It’s a total white lie. Louis’ legs burn and he planned Liam’s murder just to get through the rest of their jog. 

" _ Running _ ,” Niall gasps. “That’s fucking  _ disgusting _ , man." Niall sticks out his tongue, pulling a twisted face as if he has just bitten into a sour lemon. 

“Don’t I know it,” Louis sighs. 

"Louis, hun, show Niall around. I’ll prepare the guest room for you, honey." Jay stands up, startling Louis who had nearly forgotten she was present.

He blinks at her and nods.

"Niall, what would you like for dinner?" 

"Anything is fine. You know me, Jay," Niall grins easily. "Don’t trouble yourself." 

"Oh, you’re no trouble, hun. I love having you here," Jay says as she passes them. She goes into the foyer, calling out to Louis, "do you need anything?" 

"I’m out of cigs. Could you  _ pretty _ please buy some?  _ Please _ ?” He isn’t ashamed of how he blinks at her with big innocent eyes. 

She considers him for a moment then smiles, giving in easily. "Alright, fine." 

"Thank you. I love you."

The door closes behind her and Niall smirks at him. "So… how about that house tour? Or should I say,  _ palace sightseeing tour?  _ I mean… I thought I was at the wrong address at first." 

* * * 

Having Niall around is a blessing, as Louis knew it would be. The boy radiates warmth and familiarity and is always smiling, his blue eyes sparkling at every oh-so-small detail as Louis shows him the living room and office. 

It seems like Niall won’t stop beaming anytime soon and after all the trouble and sorrow of the past days — or well, weeks — it’s a welcome change. The house doesn’t seem so spooky anymore with Niall by his side, an endless stream of words tumbling out of his mouth. He has something to say about everything they pass from  _ 'oh sick, a flat-screen! That reminds me, we should come around and finally get one too’  _ to  _ 'that’s so fancy! Jay outdid herself with the pillow decorating,’  _ and  _ ‘cute! Is that Lottie as a baby? Called it' _ . (To the last comment, Louis couldn’t bite his tongue and replied sarcastically,  _ ‘of course, Niall we just have a picture of a random baby in our house’). _

Louis adores him even more as they make their way upstairs and Niall comments that the house has so much charm and personality. It couldn’t come closer to the truth, and hearing Niall say so makes Louis smile into his neckline.

However, as they stop in front of Louis’ bedroom door, he is hesitant. Harry had stayed behind earlier, telling him to hurry up and outrun Liam so that they could watch another episode of that odd spy show on Netflix he had taken a liking to. 

Should Louis warn Niall that Harry is here? But what if Harry  _ isn’t _ here? That’d be really fucking awkward.  _ Fuck _ . 

Louis was not prepared to introduce his two worlds today, not at all.

"Are you okay?" Niall asks.

Louis shakes himself out of it, biting his lip and pushing the door open. He holds his breath. 

His bedroom is empty. 

"Oh, sick! This looks right out of a seventies movie, man! Fucking genius." Niall walks inside and Louis follows him slowly. When he checks the hallway one last time before entering, he sees Harry standing at the end of it, dressed in all black.

They stare at each other for a moment. Louis shrugs helplessly. Harry mimics him, then vanishes. Louis closes the door behind them, feeling a bit guilty. 

The bed is still a mess, his laptop perched on a pillow. 

"What were you watching?" Niall asks, rounding the bed and plopping on the mattress. "Nice,  _ London Spy _ . Is it any good? I read some reviews on Reddit." 

Of course he had. Niall mostly reads through all of the reviews and theories online before watching any series or movie. It’s just another Niall-thing that brings a smile to Louis’ face and allows the knot in his stomach to untangle. Harry will understand. After all, Louis was just as surprised as him. 

"It’s confusing," Louis mumbles. "Every conversation goes straight over my head, I swear. But Harry loves it." Harry loves a lot of new movies. "It’ll probably make more sense when we re-watch it." 

"Oh,  _ Harry, _ huh?" Niall smiles slowly at him, an amused glint in his blue eyes. 

"Yeah," Louis says quietly. He might be blushing a bit, but he hopes that he hides it well since his cheeks are already flushed, red, and sweaty from running. 

"Will he come around today, too?" 

"Yeah," Louis repeats like he is a broken record. "He  _ basically _ lives here." He smirks. Harry would definitely appreciate his joke. 

"That’s great, man. I’m happy for you." Niall claps his shoulder. 

"Thanks." Louis scratches his neck. 

They share a quiet smile between them. Then, Niall’s eyes dart to where his guitar is standing, hidden in its case on the armchair. "Did you practice?" 

"Oh, yes. Loads, actually," Louis says. "Harry is a great player, too. He taught me some." ‘Some’ is an understatement, but Niall doesn’t need to know that.

"Is he now? So you guys cleared things up? I mean the last time we talked about him…" Niall trails off, pursing his lips and moving them from side to side.

"Yeah, yeah, we talked about it. It’s fine now." Gosh, their misunderstanding feels like a lifetime ago. They’ve come so far since then. 

"Care to share?" 

"I’d love to, Niall, but… you know, it’s  _ kind of _ private, dunno." 

"Oh thank  _ fuck _ ," Niall presses the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. "I really don’t wanna hear anything about your sex life." 

"Gee, thanks." 

Niall sticks out his tongue.

Louis pulls a funny face back at him. "Listen, I’ll hop in the shower real quick then we can like… chill or whatever, yeah?" 

Niall nods, easygoing as ever. "I’ll play some," he says, pointing to the guitar. 

* * *

Freshly showered and dressed in a green shirt and denim trousers, Louis makes his way back to the bedroom, feeling more relaxed now that the sweat has been washed off his skin. He stops in front of his bedroom door, hearing voices muffled through the wood. His eyebrows twitch and he swallows. He would recognise those voices anywhere. 

He opens the door. 

Harry is sitting on the ground, his back turned to him. Niall has taken the armchair hostage, his beloved guitar in his hands. He glances up when Louis enters and stops picking the strings, his mouth still open, ready to sing. His lips form a smile as he spots Louis standing in the doorway. Harry twists as well and grins easily at Louis, unfreezing Louis from his place. 

"Hi," Louis murmurs, unsure of what to say for a moment. He closes the door behind him and comes to a halt next to Harry. 

"Hi," Harry replies, glancing up at him. 

"Harry wanted me to play something. He told me you showed him all of our videos on YouTube," Niall explains to Louis, smiling at Harry before putting the guitar against the bookshelf. "I heard you wrote a song for him?" 

Louis stutters a small laugh, caught off guard. He feels himself flush bit pink around his cheekbones. "Of course he did," he mumbles, but he can’t hide his fondness as he gazes at Harry again. 

"You wanna sing it for me too?" Niall asks. "Maybe it’s good enough to make it onto our channel!" 

"I don’t know…" Louis scratches the side of his neck, his blush deepening. 

"Please? I’d love that actually," Harry reaches up, pulling softly on Louis’ index finger. 

"Yes, Louis, please?" Niall bats his lashes.

Louis huffs. "Fine, alright… gimme that thing." 

" _ Yes _ ." Niall leans forward and so does Harry. They high five.

Louis raises his eyebrows then shakes himself out of it. Irish charm, alright, alright.

Niall laughs and hands him the guitar.

Louis takes a seat on the bed, anxiety creeping up on him. It makes his heart beat faster as another pang of heat explodes in his neck and cheeks.

Both boys’ eyes are lingering on him. That makes four spotlights. It’s a bit too much. It’s personal, that’s all. 

"Fine, okay…" Louis mutters, inhaling. He starts strumming the chords. "Don’t laugh, Niall, alright?" He sends his friend a warning glare. “I mean it. I’ll stop if you do.”

"I’ll try not to." Niall zips his lips and throws the imaginary key away. 

Louis nods, clearing his throat and shifting on the mattress, his thumb starts drumming in time on the wood.

" _ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile. Whichever way the wind is blowing… I like the way this is going… _ " Throughout the entire song, neither of his audience members mutters a word. Niall isn’t laughing and Harry doesn’t seem to be breathing. Louis can feel both of their eyes on him, even though he has his own closed. It’s easier that way. His chest vibrates and he accidentally stutters when the  _ 'my love is growing'  _ part comes around — knowing all too well that Niall will have something to say to that later — but pushes through anyhow. 

When the last chords ebb into silence, it stays that way. Nobody speaks a word as Louis puts the guitar on the ground, leaning its neck against the bed. His eyes flicker from one boy to the other. He fiddles with his hands in his lap as he waits for a response, any kind of response.

"Bloody hell, it’s brilliant!" Niall’s exclaim is blurted out of nowhere.

Before Louis can blink, smile, or react in any way possible, he’s got an armful of Niall on his chest. The sudden added weight causes him to fall onto his back on the mattress with a breathless  _ 'ooof' _ .

Niall cackles loudly in his ear. "I fucking  _ love _ it!" 

"Thanks mate," Louis smiles slightly, rubbing his ear. He pats Niall’s shoulder lightly. One might think Louis had written it for him rather than for Harry based on his reaction. But Louis is flattered nonetheless.

"Don’t be so bloody bashful!" Niall tousles Louis’ hair. "We definitely have to record it now." 

"Really?" Louis asks in surprise. He’s not sure he even wants to put it on their channel. It’s rather personal and he doesn’t want stupid comments voicing their stupid opinions on it. It’s special and close to his heart, where the words were created in the first place. 

"For sure," Niall nods and goes back to his former seat. He folds one leg beneath his bum and draws the other to his chest. He winds his hands around each of his feet, looking like a ten year old boy for a second. "Harry, you’re so damn lucky. Hannah hasn’t written me a song." His bottom lip juts out dramatically and he widens his eyes, causing the image of a young boy to hook even more in Louis’ mind.

Louis’ heart swells in his chest at Niall’s words, his love for his best friend and Harry making him a bit choked up. He clears his throat, daring a sneaky glance at Harry. 

Harry chuckles quietly, his eyes bouncing from Niall to Louis. "Yeah…" Like Louis, Harry is flushed red around his cheeks and neck. "I’m really lucky," Harry murmurs, smiling at Louis. It’s a private kind of smile that shines through his wonderful green eyes.

Louis’ heart flutters. 

"Alright, you saps, I only just got here and I’m suffocating with all this love nonsense,” Niall complains, but there is a smile on Niall’s lips that tells Louis he approved of Harry on first sight. "You know what we should do? Record a song here, too. Like, this house is amazing! Imagine using it as our location. That’d be so sick, man!" Niall jumps out of his seat, buzzing with energy as he walks to the balcony and steps outside. 

Harry and Louis share a glance.

"What song?" Louis wonders aloud. 

"Any song. Maybe  _ 'Act My Age' _ ?" Niall looks over his shoulder, waggling his eyebrows cheekily. "Or another cover… hm, how about—"

" _ Lake of Fire, _ " Harry chimes in. "I think it’d fit. There is a river here and stuff," he shrugs. “I mean, at least it’s water, right so…” 

Louis and Niall share a look. Niall bobs his head; Louis purses his lips.

"Why not?" 

* * *

They all huddle together in Louis’ bedroom. Harry and Louis claim the bed while Niall makes his home on the armchair, trying out the chords for  _ Lake of Fire.  _ They were listening to the  _ Lake of Fire _ by the  _ Meat Puppets, _ but then switched to the acoustic cover  _ Nirvana _ did and liked that a bit better — not only because Louis fucking knows that Harry loved that one the most, but… well,  _ fine _ , alright, it’s because Harry adores the cover. 

Niall strums the first chords and Louis inhales. " _ Where do bad folks go when they die? They don’t go to heaven where the angels fly. They go to the lake of fire and fry. Won’t see them again 'till the Fourth of July. _ " 

" _ I knew a lady who lived in Duluth. She got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth. She went to her grace a little too soon. And she flew away howling at the yellow moon,"  _ Niall sings the next lines, then puts his palm over the strings to stop the melody. "Harry, why don’t you sing with us?" His blue eyes flicker to Louis then back to Harry.

Louis loves how Niall always tries to include people so that they don’t feel left out. He would have asked Harry himself, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to be the one to put Harry in an awkward place. Plus, since he can’t be photographed, Louis figured his voice couldn’t be recorded either. Now, though, he looks at Harry, too, smiling encouragingly when Harry catches his gaze, his green eyes wide and surprised. He reminds Louis of a deer in the headlights. 

"Uh… I can’t sing, not really…" he lies, his shoulders tensing. He shifts closer to Louis. 

"I don’t believe it. You have a real nice, deep voice. Put it to use, man." 

"Niall, leave it…" Louis jumps in, because Harry is now stiff as a board, his legs flexing on the mattress. Louis isn’t sure if he is even fucking breathing. "Don’t pressure him. If he doesn’t want to… he doesn’t want to." 

Harry flashes him a tiny relieved smile, but Niall is having none of it, pouting at them dramatically. 

"C’mon, just sing one line, alright? If you sound like a dying cat… well. And even if you sound really good, it’ll still be up to you after that. One line won’t hurt, eh?" 

Harry stares at Niall, then looks at Louis.

Louis shrugs and nods, telling Harry with his eyes that the decision is on him.

Harry sighs, shrugging and giving in fully as a smile spreads on his lips. "Fine, whatever. Fuck it. Let's sing." 

"Whoop, whoop!" Niall fist bumps the air, nearly losing hold of the guitar. "There’s a lad. Alright, ready?" His fingers wind around the neck of the guitar as his blue eyes bounce from Louis to Harry. A bright grin lifts his lips and his straight white teeth flash at them. 

Louis can’t help himself, dropping a quick kiss to Harry’s shoulder. "You good?" he whispers. 

Harry nods, his flat tummy ballooning as he draws in an abrupt breath. 

Louis takes over the first verse, Niall does the second, and Harry does the third. Then, Louis sings, " _ Now the people cry and the people moan. And they look for a dry place to call their home. And try to find someplace to rest their bones. While the angels and the devils fight to claim them for their own. _ " 

Harry finishes with, " _ Where do bad folks go when they die? They don't go to heaven where the angels fly. They go to the lake of fire and fry. Won't see them again 'till the Fourth of July. _ "

Harry’s voice fits the tune of the song perfectly, as if it were written for him personally. Even though Harry has sang to Louis multiple times before, the soft raspy voice that comes from inside his chest always takes Louis’ breath away and leaves him in a bubble of awe. He can’t do anything but stare at Harry’s side profile. Harry moves his head slowly from side to side, his eyes closed to shut the outside world out completely. His hand claps on his thigh to the time of Niall’s strumming.

When he sings his last line of ,  _ ‘Won’t see them again 'till the Fourth of July,'  _ and Niall’s playing fades, it takes Louis a few more minutes to come back to earth as well. 

"That was fucking awesome, mate!" Niall shoots out of his seat and jumps onto Harry in his typical manner. Harry yelps as he gets an armful of Niall and hits his head on the headrest. "_You can’t sing,_ _my arse!_ I knew that was a bloody lie!" Niall cackles, still on top of the poor boy.

Harry clearly doesn’t know what to do, his hands held up in the air behind Niall’s back. He sends Louis an overwhelmed look, but Louis merely sticks out his tongue at him. Harry seems to relax a bit at that, a small smile creeping on his lips as he finally embraces Niall, too. 

"And you knew!" Niall turns abruptly to him. Louis stares at him wide eyed, hoping it will come across as innocent. But Niall knows him too well at this point, narrowing his eyes. "You wanted to keep his talent all to yourself." He releases Harry and targets Louis, launching forward and throwing his full body weight on top of him. 

Louis groans. "Shit. Yeah, fuck, you caught me. Now get off!" 

Niall hugs him anyway, now clinging to him like a baby koala and petting his hair. "I understand, Lou," he says in a baby voice. "If Harry were my boyfriend, I’d like him to sing to me only, too!" He cackles loudly and rolls off him.

The moment the weight is lifted, Louis draws in much-needed air, righting himself on the bed with heated cheeks. He doesn’t dare look at Harry, though he feels his eyes on him. 

" _ Whatever _ , Neil," Louis says, sweeping his fringe to the side. 

"So, I guess we could record tomorrow in the garden, then, eh? Whatcha say?" Niall asks, stopping by the end of the bed with his hands on his hips. He looks at them with an excited expression, his eyebrows waggling. "I have some ideas already. We’ll definitely use the river, and maybe we could use your mum’s make-up? What do you guys think?" 

"Uh…" Harry clears his throat, shifting again. "It sounds fine. I just… don’t wanna be in the video." 

Niall frowns, his smile turning upside down. "Why not? You sound great. You should be in it, too! Right, Lou?" He gives Louis a pointed look.

"Niall, if he doesn’t want to—" 

"It’s just, it’s  _ your  _ YouTube channel." 

"What’s your point? We’ll collaborate," Niall shrugs easily.

Harry gazes at Louis, helpless. 

Louis gets off the bed. "Harry can film us. We need someone to do that job anyways, so… how about that, Harry? Would you be more comfortable with that instead?" 

Harry sighs in relief. "Yes, yeah, one hundred percent. I just hate being on video or in pictures in general. I look weird in most of them anyway, so…" 

"Well…" Niall pouts, crossing his arms and looking very much like a defiant child missing out on sweets on Halloween. The only thing that is missing is him stamping his feet. "Alright, fine." 

Later, when Niall goes to use the bathroom, Harry looks at Louis with wide fearful eyes. "You gotta teach me how to use a camera by tomorrow, otherwise I’m  _ screwed _ ." 

* * * 

They wanted to record their music video in the morning, but those plans get pushed back to the afternoon for multiple reasons. First off, Harry is still confused about how to use a video camera. In his defence Louis has only had time to explain it to him while Niall was either on the toilet or talking to Jay about his grandma’s cooking recipe. 

Second of all, Niall and Louis are still fighting, behind Harry’s back, about whether Harry should be in the music video. Yep, apparently that’s still an ongoing thing, though Louis had thought he made himself very clear. Niall says Harry would add an  _ edge _ to it, that his curls, dimples, and wonderful green eyes will give them so many more views and when viewers hear his voice, they probably will subscribe too, hoping he will join them again in the future. Louis knows that all of this is very true, and he’d like nothing more than to have Harry by his side being silly and singing on camera for the world to see, but he is aware that this can’t happen. Does he like it? Not one bit. Can he do anything about it besides get in a row with his best mate who only means good? Well, he’s working on that. 

The third and final reason is Matt, who declared at the breakfast table that it’d be a lovely day to go fishing at the lake like he had promised Louis they would. Plus, Niall and Matt get along rather well — no fuck that, that’s an understatement. Matt fucking  _ adores _ Niall, so much so that Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he were to go down on one knee and propose. So Matt sees it as the perfect opportunity to take a day off and make a real  _ 'lads day' _ out of it.

Then something happens which saddens Louis, but makes him happy at the same time. His heart is overloaded with emotions at breakfast, causing him to choke on his tea, because  _ hell _ … he didn’t see it coming. Matt wants to invite Harry, too.

That’d be awesome, really fucking awesome, and yet… he knows Harry can’t come. So Louis merely smiles through gritted teeth and blinks away the tears that sprang into his eyes as his tongue burns in his mouth from his hot tea. 

Jay is nodding supportively at the idea, Niall is smiling so bright he beats the sun, and Matt is looking at him with an open, friendly expression. And Louis has to tell them that Harry can’t go fishing with them because… well, he is still figuring that out. 

"He, uhm, y’know. He has to work at the… hostel this morning." Louis lowers his gaze to the table, knowing he can’t lie to any of their faces. 

"Why can’t he take the day off? I’m sure it basically runs itself, with all those ‘travel workers’ he mentioned," Matt brushes his answer off like a nasty fly. 

"His parents are sick and since summer is ending, most of the travellers have already left," Louis mumbles. "That puts him in a tight spot. He has to do the laundry and things, I don’t know." Louis shrugs. "I wish he could come, but I mean… what can we do, right?" 

"Oh man…" Niall sighs, his smile dropping. 

Matt shakes his head, but his disappointment seems to subside rather quickly. He gets up and puts his plate in the sink, telling them that he will get his fishing equipment ready and to be ready to go in an hour. Louis releases a big breath as Matt leaves the room.

Jay smiles at him and as she passes behind his chair, she brushes through his hair on her way to the sink. "Do you guys need anything from the store?" 

"No, thank you, Jay," Niall speaks for both of them. He is using his polite voice on her, the same one that led to him becoming his professors’ favourite pupil.

Niall just has a way with people. He probably came out of his mum’s womb with his social skills perfected to a tee. It has spared both Louis and Niall a lot of trouble in the past. One time, they went pub-hopping and a security guy didn’t want to let them in. First, Louis made a bit of a scene and nearly got them put on their blacklist, but then Niall stepped in. He silenced Louis with a look and worked his way up to the security guy, smoothing over the situation with ease. At the end, he was laughing with the other man. Ever since that night, it became their favourite pub and security always greeted them by name and watched out for them. It was  _ ace _ .

"Just one thing. Would it be okay if we use your make-up later? We want to do another music video in the garden." 

"Oh," Jay looks from Niall to Louis, "my make-up? Yes, of course. If you want, I can even do it for you." 

"Thanks mum," Louis smiles, finishing his toast. 

"Of course. Have a great day fishing," she says with a wave before slipping after Matt into the foyer. 

* * *

Fishing is exactly what Louis expected it to be: sitting at the shore, throwing their fishing line into the water, and slamming their pole into the earth. It’s a lot of waiting, sitting, and doing nothing besides staring out at the lake. Here and there, one of them will think that a fish has bitten, but it’s always a false alarm. 

Louis is just relieved that they went to the other side of the lake, sparing Louis from having to sit where he and Harry had fooled around on the night of the full moon. It’d ruin the memory, Louis guesses, to sit at the very same spot with his stepdad and his best mate, drinking beer and murmuring a few words. 

The weather is nice today. It’s not too hot in the shadows of the surrounding trees and a breeze cools them down just fine. The sky is blue and the water is green. Louis sits with his arms behind his back, his legs stretched out in a V-shape. He tilts his head towards the sun and lets the rays warm his skin, though he keeps his eyes protectively closed because he forgot his sunglasses. 

Niall and Matt are having a quiet conversation about the time Niall went fishing with his uncle and fell off the boat. He swears to God that something had hooked around his ankle and tried to pull him down. 

Louis has heard this story a few times throughout the past year and merely smiles when Niall’s voice raises dramatically when he gets to the part where he felt fingers tugging on his leg and teeth biting on his toes. Matt roars with deep belly laughter and Niall joins in. The sound of their laughter mixed with the birds chirping happily in the trees is soothing to Louis’ ears. In a way, it’s how he had imagined summer would be. Yet his heart tugs as he blinks his eyelashes open, remembering that Harry isn’t amongst them, but back at the house. He wishes he could have come with them. He’d enjoy this very much, too. 

Now Matt is telling a story about one time when he and his brother snuck into a pub underage and hid from the police in the bathroom stalls. Niall laughs as Matt explains animatedly how they had to duck behind the bar when they came out thinking the coast was clear, but ended up being wrong, the police still looking around for teenagers.

Matt goes on to explain that the story reminds him of how his brother found his first boyfriend — in a jail cell because he, too, was drinking underage but in a different pub. Niall laughs, but Louis looks quietly at Matt’s side profile. The story brings him back in time to the anxiety-filled dinner where Louis had thought Matt wouldn’t approve of him, only to find out that his brother is gay too. Though, Matt hadn’t said that he  _ is _ gay — he said he  _ was _ gay.

"Matt," Louis says. It’s probably the first time he joined the conversation after they found a place to sit and fish.

Matt gazes at him with raised brows, looking a bit perplexed, as if he had forgotten that Louis was with them.

"You said the other night that your brother  _ 'was' _ gay… does that mean he… is bi now or...?" Louis crosses his legs. 

"Oh, that…" Matt nods and stares out at the water. "My brother was a troublemaker by heart, you know? He was the one who wanted to do things like go to the pub and sneak out of the window. I joined because it was harmless fun and who doesn’t want to feel like an adult by the age of fourteen, right?"

Louis and Niall nod in agreement.

Matt sighs and brushes a tired hand through his short hair. "I grew out of it. Of course, I still had my fun, but he… he overdid it. Got into trouble with the police a few times. Overall, he was the nicest person I know to this day — nobody can change my mind about him having the biggest heart on this earth — but after my parents kicked him out when they found out about his sexuality, something in him cracked. I let him live with me for a while, but… it wasn’t enough, I guess. I don’t know what went down with our parents because I was living on my own by then, but I haven’t seen another person cry as much as he did." He shrugs, smiling sadly at Louis.

Louis tries to smile back, but feels the corners of his mouth tugging downwards at where he thinks the story is going.

"I got him a job at a friends’ workshop, helped him along, found him a flat. Everything seemed to be going alright. But then he got a boyfriend after a month of living on his own, and I didn’t like that man. He was… trouble, and my brother, too. Both of them together were a dangerous combination. I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen. He said that I wasn’t better than our parents. We fought about it, but he came back a few weeks later. He had broken things off with that man because they had a fight about money, I think. I’m not entirely sure. But then he got involved in other things, even more dangerous than his ex. One of them was street racing," he sighs. "It went on for years. I tried to talk him out of it, of course. There are so many lives that are put in danger, but he liked the rush. When he was thirty, that rush became his end. He sped through the city on a motorbike and crashed into a wall, couldn't get the curve. He died on the spot. He didn’t have a job then. He didn’t have anything going for him but those bloody street races. The worst thing…" Matt shields his eyes with the side of his hand, "he was with me earlier that evening. We had a few beers, and even talked about going on vacation together for my upcoming birthday. That was the last time I saw him alive." 

Louis is speechless. Niall seems to be at a loss for once, too. His heart hurts for the man and his brother, and for the first time he sees his stepfather in another light. It all clicks together now — his talks about people needing proper jobs, for example. 

"My parents didn’t come to his funeral," Matt says. "I haven’t been in contact with them since then." 

Louis had been surprised at Jay and Matt’s wedding that Matt’s parents were missing. Only his cousin was introduced to Louis as a family member. Oblivious, he had just assumed that like his grandma, they had died. 

"I’m so sorry. That is horrible. I am..." Louis rasps. For a moment he has the urge to reach out and hug the other man. Instead, he claps his hand on his shoulder and hopes Matt knows how much he means it. “I’m sorry, Matt.”

"Thank you. He’s in a better place now." Matt nods. "Maybe having a blast in heaven." 

" _ Fuck your parents! _ " Niall exclaims, startling both Louis and Matt. "Fuck them. Just fuck 'em." He shakes his head wildly. "You know, things like these make me so angry. You bring a child onto this earth, and I mean the child didn’t ask for it, you know? Like it’s your bloody child, and then? Suddenly you’re not okay with  _ your child _ anymore? Because what? It doesn’t like the gender you’d prefer it to like? Who fucking cares about that? Is it more important who your child prefers to be in a romantic relationship with than its well-being? All a child wants is to be loved, goddamn it. It’s not that bloody hard. If you can’t handle having a child, don’t have a child. There you go." 

Love swells in Louis’ chest and he is again reminded of why Niall is his best mate. "Hear, hear…" Louis murmurs, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat.

He hasn’t seen Niall angry often. It’s only happened a handful of times. One time was when Perrie was being stalked by this bastard, and another time when Louis’ boyfriend cheated on him. He had been forced to hold Niall back when he told him the news about the sudden break up. Niall had been ready to fight his ex on his behalf and was surprisingly strong, nearly escaping Louis’ hands, yelling wild threats and stamping his feet, huffing and puffing as his neck and cheeks reddened. 

"You’re right," Matt nods slowly. "That is partly why I never wanted children. Not because I wouldn’t tolerate them, but this world… It can be cruel. I do regret that now that I’m older but…" Matt smiles at Louis, "perhaps it’s not all a loss now, right, son?" 

Louis endures the term of endearment and nods, guessing he will have to get used to it if it puts that kind of smile on Matt’s lips and allows him to be a part of something he wasn’t before.

"Right…" For a second, he entertains himself with the thought of adding  _ 'dad,' _ but his chest protests. He isn’t ready for that just yet. One step at a time. Baby steps. Tiny, tiny steps. 

After that, the conversation turns light-hearted. They chat about sports mostly, Niall and Matt getting deep into a discussion about golf which goes right over Louis’ head. Golf is no sport, if you ask him. It’s just watching a little ball fly through the air… just like how fishing isn’t called a sport either.

But then, the topic changes to football and Louis jumps right in, discussing the last  _ Manchester-Tottenham _ game and making plans for them all to go see a match together. Niall throws in the suggestion that Harry could come too, and Louis feels guilty again when he has to say that Harry isn’t much for football and quickly looks away from Niall’s confused expression.

He hates keeping secrets from his friend. They have always been pretty open with each other, so this is new territory. Louis is unaccustomed to it, and he neither likes it nor wants to get used to it.

"I think I have one on my fishhook!" Niall exclaims suddenly as the string flexes and the rod sways from side to side. He jumps up and holds it steady, rapidly turning the wheel to draw back the string. 

Louis watches in excitement as his Irish friend fights with the fish, but then all the uproar subsides as the hook comes up empty. The fish splashes happily in the water, alive and free as ever.

Niall’s shoulders slump. "Oh man…" 

"Next time, we’ll bring a fish home for supper." Matt claps him on the shoulder. "How about another beer, boys?" 

* * * 

By the time they arrive home, they have missed lunch. It’s much later than they had expected, well into the afternoon when Matt unlocks the door. He sets their fishing gear down next to the mirror in the foyer and Jay comes to greet them, watching all men kick off their shoes and crossing her arms. 

"Don’t tell me you didn’t catch a fish," she says, eyeing them and then bending and checking the basket. 

"Sorry, honey. No fish for supper tonight." 

"We suck mum," Louis pouts. "The fishes fled, probably because Niall laughed so loud." 

"Ha, ha," the blond lad shakes his head. "It’s because you were too lazy to get up and wheel back the cord!" 

"For the tenth time Neil, there wasn’t a fucking fish on the hook." Louis gives an exaggerated eye-roll. 

"There was! I saw it twitch in the water! Right, Matt? You saw it too right?" 

"Well…" Matt scratches his neck, sending Louis an apologetic gaze. 

"Ha, see!" Niall grins in triumph. "Told ya." 

"Whatever," Louis huffs, flipping Niall off. 

"Tsk, Louis!" His mother tuts. 

Louis pulls an ‘oops’ face, closing one of his eyes and bobbing his head side to side. "Sorry…" Louis says. 

"By the way," Jay brightens, a smile curving her lips and smoothing her displeased wrinkles at Louis’ behaviour, "Harry came around. He helped me plant flowers by the terrace!"

Of course he would do something like that. Louis smiles as his heart purrs cozily in his chest.

"That’s nice of him," Matt says, looking at Louis with raised brows. "A nice boy you’ve got there, Louis." 

His neck flushes at Matt’s sincere words. He wonders if their talk earlier broke the invisible wall between them. Today feels like a real breakthrough. It’s a relief that at least his mother and his stepfather approve of Harry. Since Matt’s brother dated 'dangerous' men, his approval feels more meaningful somehow — like Harry isn’t sorted in that category. Okay, well… if they only knew. But they don’t and they won’t ever find out. Let’s not go there. 

Matt nods at him as he murmurs his quiet thanks. 

As Niall and Louis make their way upstairs, Louis feels much lighter and at ease. He has been on cloud nine ever since Niall came for a visit. It saddens him that Niall will depart in a short twenty-four hours, since Niall already has plans with Perrie and Jade back in Bristol. 

"Don’t you think we can persuade Harry to be in the video?" Niall asks, falling into step with Louis in the hallway. "I mean, what’s the harm?"

"Niall…" Louis sighs tiredly. They both stop in front of his bedroom door, and he lowers his voice, his heart already aware of Harry’s presence on the other side. "Maybe he’s awkward on film? We’re used to it since we’ve been doing it for a while now, but do you remember how Perrie suddenly didn’t know how to move anymore when the lens was directed at her? She looked fucking  _ possessed _ ." 

Niall cringes and shivers, probably remembering the vacant look in Perrie’s eyes. 

"See? We don’t want a repeat of that, now do we?" Louis raises an eyebrow pointedly.

"That’s definitely a no." 

Louis’ chest lifts in relief. "So, just leave him. If he wants to film us, he’s involved anyhow." 

"Alright, fine. Whatever." Niall rolls his eyes but snaps back to smiling not even a beat later. "Let's get this shit rolling before dinner because I’m starving already." 

"We just had a sammy like half an hour ago?" Louis grins. 

"You know me…" Niall rubs his stomach. 

"That, I do..." 

* * * 

"How do I know it’s recording again?" Harry asks, leaning close to Louis. 

Louis smiles at Harry and turns the video camera in his hands. He presses the button and points at the red dot that appears in the corner of the display. "See, the little red dot means it’s recording. If it’s not there, you won’t be filming, alright? So make sure it’s running. Otherwise we’ll have nothing saved." 

"I’m still wary about modern technology," Harry says, pulling a face and blowing air out of his nostrils in frustration. It’s endearing. "I’m just glad I got how to type into a search bar. This feels way bigger. What if I fuck it up?"

Louis laughs, stopping the recording and deleting the footage of the tiled kitchen floor. "You won’t, don’t worry." 

"Easy for you to say," Harry grumbles, crossing his arms. "You grew up with it. I’ve only just started learning it since you showed up. What if I don’t save it? Oh fuck, how do I know I saved it again?" Harry heaves a breath, giving Louis a fearful, wide-eyed look. "Niall is going to  _ hate _ me. I’ll ruin  _ everything _ ." 

Louis licks his smiling lips, trying to get them to behave. But they act out and although he doesn’t want to, another small laugh escapes his lips. He puts Niall’s video camera on the counter and steps in front of Harry, putting his hands on the worktop to the left and right of Harry’s hips. Catching Harry’s eyes, he allows himself now a quiet smile.

"Everything will be fine, love. Alright? I’ll come over and save the recording. Besides, this is supposed to be fun. If you don’t wanna do it, we’ll find a place to put it and all you’ll have to do is cheer us on from the sidelines." 

Harry’s hands wander to the small of Louis’ back. He pushes a bit and Louis goes willingly, stepping closer until their chests are flush and there is no space between their bodies. Louis is forced to tilt his head upward since Harry is so much — well,  _ not that much —  _ taller than he is.

"Will you hate me when I fuck it up?" Harry whispers, cocking his head to the side and brushing Louis’ fringe away from his forehead. 

"Obviously not, silly," Louis rolls his eyes. "It’s just a video. We can redo it as many times as we’d like." 

Harry’s sigh fans over Louis’ face. Louis licks his lips again and stands on his tiptoes, pecking Harry’s lips twice before checking over his shoulder to see if Niall is still outside. 

"I love you," he whispers before nosing the side of Harry’s jawline and moving on to his neck, darting out his tongue and licking over the spot below his ear where he knows Harry likes it best. 

Harry relaxes against him and rolls his head to the opposite side, exposing more skin for Louis to explore. "Fuck…" he breathes, his fingers digging into the fabric of Louis’ see-through shirt. "If you keep doing that," he groans, "and you look so bloody hot with that eyeliner…" 

"Hmm…" Louis hums.

Jay had done an excellent job of doing his and Niall’s make-up. Ever since Louis was done with his, Harry had been prompting him to make it a thing. Louis thinks it looks good too. He had spent a secretive while in the bathroom, staring at his reflection. His appearance is so different now. The make-up gives him a cool, edgy look. But it’s not like he’s going to admit that aloud, ever.

"Should’ve stayed in my room last night then…" he says, because thinking about his make-up seems like an unimportant waste of time when he has Harry right where he wants him. 

"But Niall… I wanted to give you guys—" Harry shudders as Louis catches his earlobe between his teeth. "time…" 

Louis releases Harry’s ear. "Aren’t you thoughtful?" he grins and kisses Harry’s jawline. 

"Always." Harry returns his smile slowly, before his eyes flicker to the video camera and a nervous expression clouds his face yet again. "Louis I —" 

"Sh… you’ll do fine. It’s a bloody video, Harry, not the world."

"I can’t do a lot for you… so the bit I can do, I wanna do at least right." 

Louis’ heart softens. "You’ll do fine." 

"Okay," Harry frowns. "I got this. So again…" Harry takes the camera between their bodies and turns it, holding it close to his face. "With this button I record?" 

Louis sighs and explains to him all over again how a video camera works and how he can make sure it’s focused. At last, Harry smiles, even though it’s a bit shaky around the edges and his eyes still shine nervously. Harry nods that he is ready to go out and put it behind him. Louis can’t help but compare him to a soldier, his spine straight and his face hardened in concentration. 

They start to head out, but Harry falters in his steps, nearly causing Louis to walk into his back as he abruptly comes to a halt by the terrace. 

_ Here we go again, _ Louis thinks. He already has another round of comforting words on his lips, but as he peeks around Harry, he also freezes on the spot. 

By the river, where they said they wanted to film, is Niall. But he isn’t alone. The girl… Amber, Harry’s sister, is with him, laughing —  _ laughing _ , actually… fucking  _ laughing _ . Niall is grinning at her and swirling her underneath his arm to music only they seem to hear. Louis has never seen her this happy. Her face is always set in a serious way, and even when she smiled, it looked sad. 

"W-what…" Louis stutters under his shaky breath. He glances at Harry, who is still staring at the pair down by the river. 

Harry’s face softens. With his free hand, the one not holding the camera, he grabs blindly for Louis and interlocks their fingers. Louis squeezes and rubs his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand. 

"I haven’t… seen her in so long," Harry murmurs, sniffing quietly.

Louis swallows his question of  _ 'why' _ down to the bottom of his belly and looks out at Niall and Amber. Niall has started kind of jumping around and by the looks of it, he’s showing her an Irish folk dance. Her head moves up and down as if she can’t decide whether she should be watching his face or his quick hopping feet. Louis smiles.

"I miss her," Harry murmurs, holding Louis’ hand in a death grip now, cutting blood circulation off. 

"I haven’t seen her in a while either." 

"She probably knows," Harry shakes his head as if to bring himself out of his mental state. He looks at Louis briefly before watching his sister again. "She knows that you know that you’re not actually sleepwalking." 

"Hmm…"

Niall’s cackle and Amber’s laughter mix together and it might be the loveliest, purest sound Louis’ ears have ever heard. His heart bleeds for the girl and what happened to her. 

Harry parts his lips to say something, but in that moment Niall notices them standing up by the house. He grins at them, waving. "Come down here! Whatcha waiting for?" he calls up, cupping the side of his mouth.

Amber turns and freezes. Just when Niall steps around her, coming their way, she vanishes in front of Louis’ and Harry’s eyes. 

"This is Amber, guys," Niall says, before glancing over his shoulder and stopping in his steps. He puts his hands on his hips and looks around wildly. "Wait —" 

Louis tugs Harry along, walking down over the grass. 

"Where did she go?" Niall asks, a small frown on his face. 

"Yeah, man, she does that sometimes. Just… runs off." Louis shrugs, forcing a smile on his lips, though his heart is beating fast.

Harry is quiet next to him. Again, Louis squeezes his hand. 

"Weird little bee. She liked my guitar," Niall grins. 

"Oh," Harry rolls his shoulders back. He doesn’t continue, just exhales and glances to the side.

Niall gives Louis a look, but Louis merely shrugs his shoulders, not knowing what to say. 

"Anyway," Niall sighs, "you guys ready?" 

* * * 

The music video went fine, just like Louis predicted. Harry had nothing to worry about. He aced the very difficult task of holding the video camera steady and directed on them. Louis had skipped over a few times to check and save the already recorded footage and kiss the anxiety about screwing up right out of Harry, smoothing the worry lines off his forehead. 

Like Louis, Niall was wearing eyeliner all around his eyes. Since neither of them were used to having something painted on their faces, they accidentally rubbed their eyes and caused the make-up to smear. However, it added another edge to the look, making them look like grunge lords or rock stars out of the eighties. Although his mother compared them to punk kids that have major issues with their parents and are now runaways, she too had to admit that it fit the gloomy mood of the video. 

"You guys are so professional about this," Harry murmurs, standing behind the desk chair as Niall starts editing the video and muting the sound. 

"We’re music students. We take music more seriously than our lives," Louis says.

"Music  _ is  _ our life," Niall chimes in, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

Louis snorts. 

"I wish Perrie was here, man. This sucks," Niall moans after a while, clicking the mouse pad twice. “She has a much better editing program.”

"Maybe we should wait to do the editing until you’re back in Bristol," Louis suggests, getting off the bed and joining Harry behind Niall. He bends forward a bit, squinting at the bright screen. "We could send it to her via email if you’re impatient."

"Hmmpf, I’m not completely clueless. I can do it, too." 

"Better than a real video editor, though?" Louis raises his eyebrows doubtfully.

"Guess not," Niall leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "This is stupid." 

Harry chuckles. "Well, at least I’m not the only one who doesn’t get any of this stuff." 

Louis smiles at him. "You did fine, love." 

"Thanks…" 

"Whatever." Niall gets up and stretches with a groan. "How about we record the audio instead? I’ll send it to Perrie." 

So they do just that. Niall goes first, standing by the desk where he put his microphone. He sings the first verse, then jumps to the third and finishes it. When he is done, he records the chords. 

Meanwhile Louis and Harry cuddle close on the bed, Louis leaning his head into Harry’s shoulder as the other boy plays with his hair. Harry’s touch plus Niall’s playing and singing lulls him right into a relaxed state of mind, nearly ready to fall asleep there and then. 

Today might be his favourite day. Harry is by his side, Niall is with them, and the fishing trip wasn’t as bad as Louis thought it would be. The actual fishing fell through, but at least he got to know a bit more about his stepfather. Now he has to admit that he prejudged him without putting any effort into trying to get to know him first.

Even though they did not catch a single fish and their entire trip revolved around drinking beer, talking, and sitting in the sun, it left Louis exhausted. That with the filming of the music video, where Niall and Louis were jumping around wildly and kicking a football over the river — because why not? — drained his bones off all their energy.

Louis yawns into Harry’s skin and smiles as Harry pulls him closer, his hand flattened on his lower back and his fingers spread like spiders’ feet. 

In the end, he must have fallen asleep without realising it. When he comes back to his senses, blinking his eyes slowly, the bedroom is set in an orange glow and he is, to his surprise, alone. The door is shut and the microphone left on the desk, but the laptop is gone. He hadn’t noticed any of it before.

"H-h-hu-uh," he mutters around a wide yawn. He stretches his arms above his head, his legs flexing on the mattress and his toes turning straight, pointing at the end of the bed. "Fuck…" he muses, his brain still mushy and drunk on sleep. He crosses his arms over his face and muffles another yawn. Louis draws a breath in before sitting up slowly. It must be past seven already. 

He finds Niall and Harry in the living room alongside his parents. A movie is playing on the telly. Harry and Niall are sitting on each of the vintage armchairs while his parents have taken over the two-seater sofa. A character on screen says something that goes over Louis’ head, but Harry erupts into a quiet laugh and then laughs harder as Niall imitates the guy on TV. Jay chuckles in Matt’s arms. 

A ginger smile steals itself on Louis’ lips as he watches them from the doorway. It feels so much more like home, seeing his family and friends in one space together. The only person missing is Lottie. He imagines her, passing him with a jokey remark and joining them on the sofa, squeezing in between Harry or Niall or plopping on the armrest next to Jay, asking what she had missed, which would lead to a heated discussion and cause everyone else to miss more than she had missed while trying to get her up to date. 

His smile grows and his heart flutters at the scenario in his head though a needle of sadness pokes his insides because she isn’t here with them, but with her fiancé. Louis gets that she wants to spend time with her soon-to-be in-laws, but… well, he misses her.

Louis shuffles back through the foyer and gets a glass of water from the kitchen, his throat dry from taking a two hour nap. The water brings a wave of freshness to his body and he sighs as he sets his glass down with a dull clinking sound. Before rejoining his friends and family, he slips onto the terrace, walking to the river.

His feet sink into the grass. It tickles his soles and he giggles softly at the sensation. When he comes close to the river, he lays down in the shadows of the old oak tree and lights a cigarette, enjoying the way the smoke is sucked into his airways, traveling to his lungs. Because he is still tired, the nicotine hits harder than usual and his mind buzzes slightly. He leans back and spreads his legs in a wide V-shape, crossing one of his arms behind his head. 

A slight breeze weaves around him, licking softly at his exposed skin and carrying the ash away with it. He takes a double-hit of his fag, holding the fume in the middle of his chest before letting it escape through his nose, feeling the inside of his nostrils dry. 

He only realises that he isn’t alone when someone close to him clears their throat. 

"Why are you hiding?" Harry asks, sitting next to him on the ground. Without asking, he takes Louis’ fag from him and sucks on it. Maintaining upside-down eye contact, he sends the smoke into the world from the corner of his mouth. 

"’M not hiding," Louis mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face and brushing his fringe off his forehead. He checks the pads of his fingers, seeing faded black on the tips. It had slipped his mind that he was still wearing eyeliner again. He rubs it off onto his trousers. 

"I like it," Harry says, darting out his index finger to touch Louis’ cheek. "The eyeliner, I mean. It suits you." 

"Thanks," Louis smiles. "Maybe it’ll be my thing now, eh?" 

"Please," Harry mock-groans and traps the fag between Louis’ lips.

Louis bites carefully on the butt of it, letting it move from side to side before tightening his mouth around it and sucking in smoke.

Harry watches him, his expression thoughtful for a moment. 

"What?" Louis asks, sitting up and stubbing out the burned down fag in the grass. 

"Niall wants to go to the pub tonight." 

"Of course he wants to. It’s Niall," Louis chuckles giving an easy eye-roll.

"He invited me, too." 

Oh.

"Ah…" Louis nods. "I’ll come up with a lie, don’t worry." 

"Don’t you get sick of lying for me and making up excuses?" 

"Did something happen?" Louis asks, not liking where this is going. 

"Nah, s’just me. I kind of feel like I’m holding you back already." 

"Back from what?" 

"Living like a normal person?" Harry scrunches his nose up. "You shouldn’t have to lie to your friend because of me. Or to your parents."

"Harry," Louis chuckles in confusion, tilting his head to the side. "Stop being stupid. It’s fine. I can live with it if it means I can be with you. I don’t see the big deal. A few little white lies here and there won’t hurt anyone." 

"If you say so," Harry muses, scratching his puckered forehead. "Did you mind that I was with your family just now? I’m sorry." 

"Stop it," Louis frowns. "I love that you’re spending more time with them. Matt invited you to our fishing trip too. They like you, a lot. And I wasn’t hiding here because of you." He adds the last sentence guessing that it was what troubled Harry’s mind. 

"Okay, just saying." 

"You think too much." Louis shakes his head, smiling at Harry. "Way, way, way too much." 

Harry sighs. "Guess I do, huh?" 

They share a quiet smile. Harry lays his head on Louis’ thigh and Louis’ fingers find his hair on their own, carding through the curls and massaging his roots.

Harry’s hair always seems to be so soft. Louis has noticed it a few times before, but it always impresses him. It’s as if in ghost town they have another kind of shampoo and all the ghosts walk around with shiny beautiful hair in the afterlife.

The same goes for Harry’s clothes. Louis has seen him in a few different outfits by now and wonders how it works, if Harry just thinks of what he wants to wear or if there are rules involved. Today he is wearing all black. It’s hot outside, but the heat doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

Louis lays the back of his hand on Harry’s cheek and purses his lips. His skin is cold though Louis’ own is warm from the setting sun. It’s the little things that make the difference between Louis and Harry, things that would go unnoticed if Louis didn’t know about him being a ghost. 

He hadn’t thought too much before about what happens after death, but being stuck on earth, looking like a normal person with soft hair and different outfits on different days wasn’t something he could have come up with, no matter how good the weed he had smoked might have been. He had always kind of thought that after death there is an endless black, like falling asleep — you just pass out and that’s it. Game over. And if Louis would have guessed that ghosts exist, he would have thought they were just… nothing, like in paranormal activity or whatever. They could open and close doors and perhaps you’d feel a breath on your neck but… you wouldn’t see them, not like in  _ Harry Potter _ or currently what is to be believed is his life now. It makes ghosts less scary in a way — they are just people still. 

His mind wanders to Zayn and what they had fought about at the gate. What would happen to Harry if Zayn 'banished' him and all the others from the house? Where would he go? Into another world? Would he be reborn as a baby and start a new life as a new person? Or would he be stuck in nowhere, alone with his thoughts, bodiless yet not completely gone? Does Zayn even know? Does he care? 

It doesn’t look like he does. He holds the belief that ghosts are evil dear to his heart. Louis wonders why. Harry isn’t evil — quite the opposite, actually. His sister is probably just scared and confused. Louis can’t let Zayn take Harry away from here, nor Amber. The thought of them moving on into the unknown is scary. Would Harry want to move on though? He did say that he hated this house… 

Louis glances down at him, letting his fingers wander over his cheek and tap his nose twice. Harry smiles and kisses Louis’ knee over the fabric of his trousers. His heart weighs tons in his chest. He can’t let anything happen to Harry. He has suffered enough already. 

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asks and for a second Louis fears that Harry has the ability to read his mind and that this is a trick question. 

"Nothing." 

"Hmm…" 

Louis swallows. "It’s been a nice day, that’s all." 

"Yeah it was fun," Harry agrees, rolling onto his back and blinking at Louis. The back of his head presses into Louis’ thigh, the spot becoming numb, but he doesn’t mind because of how Harry is smiling at him, two dimples on display. Louis pokes his index in one of them. Harry smiles wider. "What are you doing?" 

"So many questions that I have no answer to…" Louis faux-sighs, bringing his hand into Harry’s curls and playing with the tips, swirling one curl around his finger.

Harry parts his lips to reply, but clicks his teeth shut instead.

Louis hears something then, too, and checks over his shoulder to see Niall coming their way, a bright grin sewn on his lips.

"Oi, there ya are!" he waves. "Did your boyfriend tell ya he’s not coming with us to the pub tonight? Tell him I object." 

Harry snorts. "Next time, man, sorry." He sits up, smiling at Niall. "I’m just not in the mood. Didn’t sleep well and then had to work at the hostel." He shrugs and rubs below his nose, his eyes falling onto Louis for a short moment. "Plus…" he adds, "you guys haven’t seen each other for a while and I don’t wanna be in the way of bonding and shit." 

"We live together," Niall says, putting his hands on his hips. "Seriously you wouldn’t —" 

"Niall…" Louis intervenes with a heavy heart, "he’s tired." 

"Well, if that’s so… excuse me while I kidnap your boyfriend now, Harry." Niall grins. "Maybe you’ll go drinking with us in Bristol, or are you a damn lightweight?" He eyes Harry with a playful expression.

Louis gets up, brushing dirt off his trousers. "He will drink you under the table, Niall. Just you wait. You’ll regret asking."

"Nobody ever has." 

"In Bristol, I’ll beat you for sure. It’ll be the worst hangover you ever experienced, man," Harry says, taking Louis’ outstretched hand in his. Louis hauls him onto his feet. 

"Fine. That’s a promise, I’d say," Niall nods and they shake hands on it.

Behind Niall’s back, Harry winks at him. 

* * * 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! I guess ch13 was a much needed break from all the angst I put you guys (and Louis and Harry, of course haha!) through! If you enjoyed it, comments and kudos are so very, very welcome because they make me the happiest person alive! 
> 
> I hope you have a great weekend! x


	14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! 
> 
> a bit thank you to [Serena](https://tempolarriefix.tumblr.com/) for editing this chapter so, so fast! you're amazing and i love youuuu! :') 
> 
> guys, you make me so happy. I love reading and replying to all your comments, they are so wonderful, thank you, ily!! 
> 
> happppy reading, enjoy! x

* * * 

"Happy Birthday!" a group yells from the bar before they each throw a shot back, knocking their glasses on the counter afterwards and pulling grimaces. Then they cheer and pat each other's shoulders. Two guys sway from side to side while a girl is sitting on the bar’s surface, her legs swinging freely as she giggles at something the guy in front of her has said. Judging by the cake-with-candles hat on her head, Louis guesses that she’s the birthday girl. 

Besides the group celebrating, there are two other men in the booth next to the door. They aren’t as loud and seem to be keeping to themselves. 

Louis and Niall are the only other customers. They had claimed the booth at the far end next to the jukebox where Louis, Zayn, Liam, and Harry had sat the other night. It’s Louis’ favourite spot, where he can overlook everyone. However, instead of Harry sitting by his side and throwing an arm around his shoulders, the spot next to him is left empty. Niall sits opposite him, his body turned sideways so that he, too, can watch the group that is having a birthday party. 

"The next round is on me!" the girl on top of the counter calls over the music, pointing at their booth and nodding at the older men by the door. "I’m twenty-fucking-five!" 

"Hear, hear!" Niall cheers to her and Louis raises his pint too, smiling when her eyes catch his. 

The song changes from _ Blurred Lines _ to _ Wonderwall _ and Niall grins at him. "Good times," Niall nods, "remember?" He lifts his eyebrows, glancing at the speakers in the corner on the right side of their heads. 

"Course I do," Louis returns Niall’s grin. They clink their glasses. "To happy days!" Louis cheers.

Niall echoes him with a booming voice. 

Louis sighs after taking a long gulp of his beer, his fingers tapping aimlessly on the sweating glass. 

They fall into a light conversation, discussing their music video and throwing ideas back and forth about how the finished product should be. 

"What if Perrie edits the football into a ball of fire? Or, we kick the football over the river and… the river is on fire? That’d look so fucking sick," Niall gushes, leaning so far over the table that his chest is nearly bedded on it. "I don’t know if that’s possible but like… imagine!" He brings his hands together and lets his fingers snap against each other, demonstrating an explosion. "Bam!" 

"I love that," Louis grins. "She could probably put a filter over it or add red flashing lights." 

"Demonic, I like it," Niall nods in a serious manner. "We could add some bloopers too, like when you ran towards the camera, to Harry. I watched that snippet, and it looked kinda cool how you jumped over the rock," he shrugs. "Or when I stumbled over the bloody football!" he cackles, knocking his fist on the table. 

Louis laughs too. "That was hilarious!" 

"But like the location is still the best thing. The house is fucking ace, man. I mean… with that green shit all over the bricks! I love it! It has so much fucking charm," Niall says, sobering. 

"It’s English ivy," Louis corrects. 

"Bloody fancy, that house," Niall says. He takes a big sip of his beer, then wipes his mouth, "I fucking love it. When I marry Hannah, I wanna move into a house just like that with her! Imagine how fucking great that’d be? We could play hide-and-seek for hours and our children could run around in such a huge garden. Man, just imagine the BBQs we could have there? Fuck, yeah… that house is the dream, man, the _ dream _," Niall tells him, waving animatedly with his hands. His cheeks are red from the alcohol and the heat in the small pub.

Louis smiles, his eyebrows having raised to the middle of his forehead by the time Niall ends his little speech. He clicks his glass against Niall’s slightly. "Hear that, Niall? You’re growing up, eh? A house with a garden and BBQs, a wife and children," he shakes his head in mock-disbelief. He is happy for his friend, but at the same time, the reminder that they are merely twenty years old and still in university weighs massively on his tongue. But since he doesn’t want to be _ that _ person who pokes a needle through the balloon of his friend’s dreams, he swallows it down with another long swig of his beer.

"I can’t wait. University feels like a long phase of preparation for life, but fuck that, right? If I wanna marry Hannah tomorrow, I will fucking marry her. If I want that kind of house, I’ll make it fucking happen. I’m Irish; luck’s on my side," Niall nods several times. "Fuck it, we’ll make it with our music, mate, and I’ll buy Hannah tons of houses _ all over the world! _" 

"That’s the dream," Louis grins. 

Again, they cheer and clink glasses. It’s just that kind of night apparently, a night to celebrate hopes and dreams. As Niall talks more about the future and what he wants to do with his, Louis’ mind starts to spit out images of not Hannah and Niall living in a beautiful house with a million babies, but of himself and Harry living somewhere on the ocean or maybe in a huge city. London, yeah, London would be it. They could even do both, if Niall is right about them making it big with music. They could buy a penthouse in London and a huge beach house in Malibu or Australia or wherever. Louis would show Harry all of the places he hasn’t had the chance to see, would buy him so many new CDs and vinyls that they would never run out of music for the rest of their lives. He imagines Harry sitting on an armchair, his nose buried in a book while Louis sits on the ground beside him playing guitar. The fireplace is crackling because _ hell _, they would definitely have a fucking fireplace in their millionaire house. They’d grow old together, spoiling their grandchildren and watching them draw or… Harry could them teach the guitar, while Louis teaches them all about football and it would — 

"Earth to Louis?" Niall waves his hand in front of his face.

Louis startles, knocking his knee against the table. He grabs it, hissing in pain.

Niall laughs. "You okay there, mate?" 

"Sure…" Louis says, still rubbing his kneecap, "just thinking." 

"I can see that," Niall grins easily, shrugging. "What about, huh? You babysitting my kids? My wedding? You're gonna be the best man, of course." 

"Not particularly." 

"Oh, I get it, I get it…" Niall nods, giving Louis an amused look. "You were daydreaming of Harry and your babies. Honestly, you guys would pop out the most beautiful babies ever." 

"Ha, ha," Louis rolls his eyes, but has to dip his chin to his chest to hide his smile from Niall’s watchful, knowing gaze. 

"That was it, wasn’t it?" 

"Perhaps." 

"I love Harry. He’s amazing, mate," Niall shakes his head in wonderment. "I mean, he’s a bit… weird at times—" 

"What do you mean by weird?" Louis lifts his eyebrows. 

"I’m just saying," Niall waves his hands in surrender. "He’s different, is all I’m saying. Different can be good, man. He has a great voice, too."

Louis smiles. "He does, yeah…"

"Here are your drinks," the bartender announces, setting two fresh glasses of beer down. "It’s on the birthday girl," he says, pointing his thumb at her over his shoulder. 

"Oh," Niall grins loosely, "thanks mate, cheers!" 

As the barman strides back to his spot behind the bar, they both raise their glasses in cheers to the girl. She grins back at them, wide and friendly. 

"Thank you, love!" Louis calls. "Harry birthday!" 

"Thank you!" 

"Anyway, I can’t wait for him to come visit us! Maybe we could have him do a gig with us? The girls will love him too." Niall’s eyes sparkle in excitement. 

Just like the image of him and Harry living in a penthouse in London or in a beach house with a fireplace, imagining Harry on stage with Louis, perhaps playing a guitar like Niall, is a warm, cozy thought. Just for tonight, Louis thinks, he will allow himself to live in that fantasy. So he lets a big grin spread on his face at Niall’s words, blindly ignoring that pull in his stomach that tries to bring him back down to earth. 

"Yeah, he’d love that," Louis says, sweeping his fringe to the side. "He doesn’t even try and yet he still has this rockstar vibe around him. It’s mesmerising."

"He has so much potential. I mean that voice, man, I’m not trying to flatter you guys too much but… hearing you sing together is… a real experience." 

"Hmmm," Louis hides another smile in his pint. 

Niall giggles. "You just had to go and fall in love here instead of in Bristol, didn’t you? I mean, that’s so you," he rolls his eyes good-naturedly. 

"It is what it is," Louis shrugs easily. "We’ll just do long distance. We haven’t talked too much about what will happen when I move home yet, though." Louis frowns, because it’s true. They haven’t talked about the future at all. What if Harry doesn’t want to do long distance? Can he even talk on the phone? Perhaps Louis should get him one anyways. Even if he can’t talk on the phone, he can at least send texts, right? Does Harry want that? What… does Harry want in general? Huh. Louis has been so preoccupied with everything about Harry’s past that he didn’t dare to think about the boy’s future. Their future… if they have one together. How would that work? Louis can only — "Anyway," he says loudly, interrupting his own stream of hectic thoughts and forcing a huge smile. "Lets get fucking pissed!" 

"Cheers, mate. To love; to music; to us!" 

The night goes on like that. They drink and keep their conversations dreamy and as far from reality as possible from what kind of cars they want to whether a private jet would do it or if they would rather a fancy as fuck yacht.

Niall says he wants his own golf field and Louis fantasies about a game room. Niall wants a heated swimming pool, Louis a Jacuzzi. Hannah likes horses, so Niall definitely wants the best horse for his girl and Louis wants to give Harry a vintage guitar like the ones they had a look at the other night. Both of them agree that they should have their own record studio in the basement or turn an entire penthouse into a studio with a lounge and a rooftop terrance where they can talk business because, _ holy shit _ , if they are rich and famous, there definitely will be fucking business meetings with real business people in suits and ties. It’s all rather exciting, talking about a future so far out of their current reach. At the end of their laughter and comments of _ 'hey that’d be so sick,' _there is a sobering effect on them both. 

"Well, if Shawn Mendes can make it, coming from Vine and YouTube, then so can we. Innit?" 

Louis grins. 

"What?" 

"You’re still into Shawn, aren’t you?" 

"I — no. I mean, yes. No, like not like that, goddamnit. Stop fucking laughing, Louis… he’s fucking amazing, that’s all, okay?" Niall stammers, rubbing a hand over his red cheeks. 

Louis sobers, but not by much. "Look at you, Ni, having a celebrity crush. Cute." 

"We can’t all be into David Beckham," Niall whines. "And Shawn is so handsome, I mean, who doesn’t love this guy? He’s so bloody nice too. I watched some of his interviews—" 

"Some?" Louis raises his eyebrows. 

"Some, a lot, all of them, a few… it’s all the same, right? Who cares? Right? Louis?" Niall hides his eyes behind his palms, peeking at Louis through the gaps between his fingers. "Don’t make fun of me, and don’t tell Hannah. Oh, please don’t tell her." 

Louis smirks. "If we become famous, it’s gonna be like, _ ‘Hannah who?’ _because you’ll be best buds with Shawn. Or not, depends if you scare him off with all your talks about golf and your fangirling." 

"I bet he’d think it’s rather cute." 

"You’re very cute when you’re embarrassed," Louis nods with a smirk, quirking one eyebrow.

"Louis William Tomlinson, are you _ flirting _ with me?" Niall faux-gasps, staring at him with wide cartoonish eyes. "Harry better not find out about this. Oh Louis, tsts…" he shakes his head slowly. 

Louis bats his eyelashes, letting one hand creep over the table until his fingers wander over the back of Niall’s hand. Niall eyes him, and Louis’ smile starts to wobble dangerously as he strains to hold back his laughter. 

"Fuck, I can’t do it," Louis breaks, drawing his hand back and bursting out laughing. "This is too weird, I’m sorry." 

"What does that mean? Don’t tell me I’m not your type — I’m _ everyone’s _ type." Niall manages to look offended, though he is close to laughing, too. Louis can tell by the way the corner of his lips keep turning upward slightly. He presses them down, causing him to look like a fog. 

"Meh..." Louis turns his hand side to side. "Eh, so-so." 

They both fall into easy laughter after that.

"I don’t know how to tell you this, Louis, but I’d rather stay friends. It’s not you, it’s me!"

Another snicker bubbles from Louis’ chest. Niall wipes tears from the corner of his eyes. 

"But… but, Niall…" Louis plays along, going for a pathetic, begging voice. "You can’t do that to me. I thought… you felt the same?" 

Niall snorts a laugh. "I did, baby, I did…" he sighs dramatically, throwing his head back and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Then he tilts his head downward, peeking at Louis through his lashes. "It’s just… there is someone else!" 

Louis laughs but then goes quiet, getting back into character. "No! It’s not someone I know, is it?" He forms a pout with his bottom lip, letting it wobble. "You can’t do that to me! After all these years!" 

"_ I’m sorry!" _ Niall throws his hands in the air. 

"Is it because I don’t like apple juice? It is, isn’t it? Niall, I’ll drink apple juice every day if it means I get to keep you!" 

Niall giggles. "It is!" he says with a shaky voice. "But I don’t want you to do that to yourself just for me. That’s why I think it’s best if we get a divorce, my love. I’m sorry." 

Louis gasps. "_ No-o-o-o… _" he draws the word out until his lungs are empty. 

"Fuck, I missed you," Niall grins, laughing again. He takes a sip from his beer. 

Louis smiles. "Missed you too." 

"Next semester will be great. How about we throw a party when you get back?" 

"We can do that," Louis says, leaning against the backrest of the booth and folding his hands over his stomach. He stifles a yawn. The alcohol is making his brain lazy and his body heaves with exhaustion as the events of the day creep upon him again. His nap didn’t do much, apparently. 

"Cool, I’ll let the girls know. Do you wanna plan a theme?" 

"Themes are fun. Let's go with eighties glamour rock." 

"That isn’t a bad idea," Niall bobs his head, rubbing over his chin in thought. "Or nineties grunge?" 

"Yeah," Louis nods, "works fine." 

"We could do another music video or a vlog?" 

Louis rolls his eyes. "Dunno if people would be interested in a vlog." 

He and Niall had made some in the beginning of their career in music together, but they turned out rather boring and dull. It was mostly just them explaining what they do while they do it and throwing in some screams and staged pranks. There wasn’t much buzz around them, so they ended up deleting them. 

"Right, I think our vlogging-era is over," Niall sighs sadly. "No more eating chips on camera."

"And getting ketchup all over the lens…" 

Niall scrunches his nose. 

"Let's stick to music videos, eh?" Louis suggests.

"Deal," Niall nods. "I can’t wait for university to start again. All the fun we're gonna have…" He shakes his head. "It’s gonna be a wild year, plus all of our homework and exams. We're gonna be so bloody exhausted." 

"Cheers to that," Louis says, lifting his empty pint. Though he is smiling, his heart squeezes in a painful tug. Each heavy beat reminds him that the start of university will be the end of his and Harry’s time together. 

* * * 

Louis’ goodbye to Harry is two weeks away. Two short weeks. Fourteen days, nothing more, nothing less than that. 

Louis wants to cherish them so that he can relive all of the memories they shared between them later when he is laying in his bed in Bristol, with a pillow over his head to try to muffle the sounds of laughter and music coming from Niall’s room. It will be bittersweet being back, homesickness heavy in his heart. 

However, before Louis is forced to part ways with Harry, it is time to say ‘see you soon’ to Niall. 

It’s midday when they part. They had spent the entire morning nursing their hangovers, staying in bed for as long as they could. They went downstairs around 1:00 PM for some strong coffee and cereal — Jay had left by then and neither of them wanted to be at fault for burning the house down. Niall had joked it would be a way of leaving with a bang, but Louis reminded him kindly that he isn’t insured in case of a house fire. 

Harry came down around two, just after Niall had heaved his duffle bag into his tiny, beat-up car. 

"Don’t tell me you’re leaving already," he says by way of greeting. 

"Sadly, I have to." Niall’s shoulders slump. "It’s been a blast, but Bristol is calling me and if I don’t go, Perrie will fill out a missing person’s report because she made me promise to come back today." 

"That blows," Harry pouts, coming to stand next to Louis. 

"Yeah, but we’ll see each other soon, right? Louis told me you’d come for a visit. It’s gonna be so much fun. You’ll love the pub. And," he inhales deeply, "you’ve gotta do a gig with us, man." 

Harry stiffens, but Niall doesn’t notice as he’s already looking at Louis. 

"Come home soon," Niall embraces Louis in a tight hug.

Niall is the greatest hugger in the universe. Louis loops his arms around his compact figure, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

"I promise I’ll have the flat clean before you arrive." 

"Empty promises, empty promises," Louis tuts, pulling back from the hug with a smile. He sweeps his fringe out of his vision as Niall puts his hands on his hips, cocking them to the side. 

"Pshh," Niall rolls his eyes. "As if. You’re the messy one." 

Louis gives him the bird and they chuckle for a moment before Niall’s eyes dart back to Harry. 

"Speaking of promises, you really have to come see us. I mean, obviously more for Louis than for me, but still." Niall shrugs easily. "Remember our gig, too. Oh, or could you maybe come to our party? It’ll be the day after Louis comes home. Maybe you can tag along. I dunno about the train connection, but I bet we can figure out how to get you back here after." 

Harry nods, a mask of calmness concealing his actual emotions as he mutters, “Sure. Yeah, I’d love to.” 

Niall embraces him in a big Niall-bear hug too, because Niall is not only the best hugger in the world but also hates shaking hands. If they ever have a business meeting with a label or whatnot, Louis reckons Niall wouldn’t think twice before hugging some CEO. Instead of thinking about how Niall departing means his own remaining days are counting down, too, Louis tries to amuse himself with that mental image. It doesn’t work.

Louis’ eyes drop from Niall and Harry to the ground, his heart heavy as Niall says another goodbye to Harry. 

"I’ll call Jay when I get home, eh?" Niall grins at Louis, taking a step backwards toward his car. Right, because Jay and Niall are so close that now they have more phone conversations than Louis has with her. 

"Sounds good. Drive safe, mate." Louis smiles, but it feels weird on his lips. The second Niall is in the car and has let the door swing shut, the smile falls from his face.

Niall waves wildly at them and they take a step back to safety, Louis dragging Harry by his arm. Niall isn’t known for his driving skills and — 

The car shoots forward and Niall hits the brake, pulling an 'oops' face at them through the windshield. Then he turns, nearly crashing into the rubbish bins by the gate. Once he has made it safely through the opening, he leaves them behind in the dust, both staring after the car because it’s easier than to look at each other. 

In a bit, that will be Louis, driving away. 

He knows it now more than ever and he guesses that Harry does, too.

They are running out of time. 

* * * 

Upstairs, the mood is gloomy. It’s as if Niall took all of the warmth away with him, so they do nothing more than cuddle together on the bed and breathe each other’s air. 

Harry throws his arm around Louis, pulling him even closer into the side of his body. Louis goes easily, nuzzling Harry’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to his collarbone. 

"I guess I’ll be coming to your party then, huh?" Harry says, attempting a joking voice, but it falls flat. Louis wraps an arm tight around Harry’s middle, his fingertips pressing into the soft fabric where his shirt covers his love handles. 

"I wish I could just stay here," Louis says with a long sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek on Harry’s chest.

"You can’t," Harry says, his fingers starting to brush through Louis’ hair, causing a tingling sensation to spread at the roots. 

"I know," Louis grinds his teeth, then relaxes his jaw. "I’m just saying. I’ll miss you." 

"I’ll miss you, too," Harry replies instantly. "Very much so." 

"What happens when I go to Bristol?" Louis blinks his eyes open, staring at the closed door. 

"What do you mean?" Harry’s fingers falter in their pattern before coming to a halt completely. "Louis?" he prompts into the quietness.

"I mean, with us. What will happen to us?" Louis murmurs.

When Harry doesn’t reply, Louis can’t help himself and lifts his head, scanning Harry’s face. There is that mask again that Louis noticed when Niall had first invited him. He looks calm, too calm.

Harry’s hand falls away from Louis and lands with a dull sound on the mattress. 

"What do you want to happen?" Harry asks quietly. "Don’t you want to see other people? Someone who is alive and can go to every party you throw? And see you at gigs? And dance with you in the club? Who you can have sex with? I don’t think it would be fair of me to say that I want to try long distance. We’d have no way of communication anyways." He shrugs, his eyes flicking to the closed door then back to Louis. "It’s probably better if this just stays a… summer fling or a friendship or… I dunno, whatever." 

"Whatever?" Louis doesn’t want to be hurt. Really, he gets Harry’s point, but… "Whatever?" he repeats, blinking in disbelief at the boy in his arms. 

"Louis, let’s face it. I’m dead —" 

Louis flinches at the word. 

"I’m just saying," Harry murmurs, stroking Louis’ back, "that I’m dead and you’re alive." 

"But I love you," Louis says, frowning. "I thought that you felt the same?" 

"I do love you. And I will miss you terribly when you’re gone, but what do you want me to say? Let’s do long distance, sure, and you can come see me every once in a while." Harry shakes his head. "I’m stuck here, but you belong in the outside world. I don’t want to hold you back." 

"Hold me back from what?" 

"Living? Building a future? Having a house and a child and a husband or wife. Everything, really. I just want you to be happy. And I don’t think I’ll be able to make you happy in the long run." 

"Hold on," Louis says as he sits up, his heart squeezing to the point that it’s painful. "You’re saying that you don't want to do long distance because _ you _ think _ I _ want a house and a husband?" 

Harry nods.

"I do want that, of course." Louis frowns, concentrating on a spot on Harry’s neckline. "But, no. I don’t want to see anyone else but you. I don’t want just any husband. I don’t care, you know? I don’t care if we have to do long distance. I don’t care if I have to drive all the way out here to see you. It’s not like there’s an ocean between us. I don’t care… I just want to be with you for as long as you want to be with me. It’s my decision as well. I know what makes me happy, and ending things like that… just breaking it off when I leave…" Louis shakes his head. "I won’t be able to live with myself if we don’t at least try. I love you. We haven’t known each other for very long, but…" He shrugs and wrinkles his nose a bit, his eyes snapping to Harry. "I don’t wanna sound like a sap or anything, but love knows no time. Don’t try to be a saint and break my heart just because you think it’d be kinder. Only do that if you actually don’t want to be with me…" 

"I want to be with you," Harry rasps. "Forever, if you’ll have me. But, Louis, think this through —" 

Louis shuts him up with a kiss. 

Harry goes lax and a deep moan rumbles in his chest as Louis twists his fingers in his curls. In one smooth movement, Louis straddles Harry. 

Harry loops his arms around Louis’ body immediately, holding their chests flush together as they suck on each other’s lips. The kiss deepens, becoming more desperate and needy. Louis’ hips start rolling back and forth on their own accord. Harry digs his fingernails into Louis’ shoulder blades over the fabric of his shirt. 

Louis parts his lips, biting at the corner of Harry’s mouth before he opens up and wraps his lips around Louis’ tongue, sucking softly. Louis moans brokenly as Harry moves on to his neck. 

A second later, Louis doesn’t know how or what just happened, but his back is pressed into the mattress and Harry is hovering over him, grinning sharply at Louis’ perplexed expression. Then the questions of how or what get lost as Harry surges forward, bringing their lips back together in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Harry’s tongue sweeps over his while he straddles Louis, planting his hands next to Louis’ head. 

It gets to be too much the moment Harry starts grinding down on him. They are both rock hard in their trousers. Louis is going to die of blue balls because — 

"Harry," Louis whispers between kisses, "Harry… stop." 

"Don’t you want to?" Harry murmurs. 

"Okay, no, stop," Louis says, blinking his eyes open and pushes his palm against Harry’s chest, bringing some air between them as Harry sits back on his calves. His cheeks are flushed in a pretty red and Louis swallows thickly, seeing the outline of Harry’s hard cock straining beneath unnecessary layers of clothing. Yet, he sighs and shakes his head. "You don’t want to, remember?" His voice is deep and sounds breathless even to his own ears. "We can’t go on like this. If you don’t want to have sex with me, that is fine. I won’t put pressure on you or whatever, but you can’t get me all hot and hard and fuck…" Louis groans, "look like this," he waves a hand at Harry, "just to pull back or not let me do something for you too." 

"I bet every other man in this universe would be happy to be sucked off without having to give something in return." Harry quirks an eyebrow. 

"Well, I’m not every other man in this universe. I’m Louis and I’m just… that kind of person, I guess." He shrugs, an awkwardness overcoming him and causing him to drop his gaze to the mattress. Is he being stupid? He surely feels like an idiot for pushing Harry away like this, for being the one to put a hold on their pleasure. Still, there is a knot in his gut and he knows that he can’t go on like this, that he’d hate himself later. "We either do it right or not at all." 

"I’m sorry," Harry whispers. "It’s not like I don’t want to… Louis, believe me, I do." 

"Yeah I can see that," Louis eyes the bulge in Harry’s pants again before smiling at Harry, hoping to bring back some lightheartedness into this mess.

"I’m just…"

"Not ready," Louis finishes for him. "And that’s fine, there is no rush." 

"You’re gonna leave soon."

"I’ll be back." 

Harry sighs shakily, lowering his eyes. "What if I’m never ready?" 

Louis’ shoulders fall. "Then so be it," he says with a pressed voice.

"You don’t really mean that though, do you? You have needs —" 

"I love you." 

"At some point you won’t because —" 

"I’m an animal who just wants to fuck anything and anyone." 

"No, of course not. Just… at some point, I’m sure it’ll be too much." 

Louis knows theoretically that Harry is one hundred percent right. Louis has always been a person who enjoys sex, but… he is also stubborn. 

"I don’t care." 

"I do." 

"Harry, we sound ridiculous. You know that, right?" 

"Kiss me, then," Harry says, defiant. "That way I’ll shut up." 

Louis huffs, laying back on the mattress. 

"Are you mad? I’m sorry." Harry gets off him but stays close by his side. He presses his cheek into the pillow and peers at Louis with wide, earnest eyes. "I’m sorry." 

Louis shakes his head. 

"I am." 

"No, I know you are. You just don’t…" Louis chews on his bottom lip. "You don’t have to apologise, love." He turns on his side. "Is it because of the ghost thing or is it because of what happened with… still?" Louis leaves the name out of his mouth, since they both already know who he is talking about.

"Like I said, it’s both, but… honestly, mostly the ghost thing. What if… something happens?" 

"So it’s not because of him then?"

Harry shrugs. "It’s been years. It was kind of a shock the first time. The memories came back, but… I mean, I’m working through it. It’s gotten better." 

"If it’s just because you’re being a ghost, we could try. Harry, let me explain for a second —" Louis rushes to say as Harry opens his lips in protest. "Let me just say this. We could try it, yeah? And if something happens… well, we’ll just stop. Easy." He shrugs. 

Harry looks torn for a moment. Then he shakes his head. 

"Okay," Louis whispers, "just think about it, then. It doesn’t have to be now or even later. But… just think about it. We’ll go slow. Nothing will happen to me, okay? And if something goes wrong, we’ll just stop," he repeats slowly. 

Harry closes his eyes and Louis already knows his answer before he even says it. His expression gives him away as he blinks at Louis through his lashes. 

"Think about it," Louis shrugs before Harry can say anything at all, getting off the bed. 

"Where are you going?" Harry asks, sitting up.

"I’m gonna take a cold, cold, _ cold _ shower." 

Harry falls back onto the mattress with a breathless chuckle and Louis closes the door, frowning at the outline of his dick. There is a higher chance of him dying of blue balls than Harry killing him during sex, honestly. 

Louis sighs and shuffles to the bathroom, still leaving the door ajar just in case there is another power failure. He really can’t do more than take an icy shower, which does not only the trick of cooling his hot desire but also numbs him to the point that his mind is a blank endless space, his thoughts mixing with body wash and shampoo, washed down the drain. 

* * * 

He finds Harry where he left him, on the bed. In his hands is the leather-bound journal that Louis had found in the basement. 

"I was really depressed back then," Harry muses, not looking up from it. He turns a page. "I still am sometimes. It’s just weird reading things that I wrote before my death." 

"Haven’t you written anything since then?" Louis asks, going over to his closet. 

"Of course not. There was no paper or anything like that left. I miss writing a lot, but at least you have a guitar so that’s something, innit?" Harry glances at him with a tiny smile. 

"Hmm, I guess so," Louis murmurs, pulling a fresh shirt over his torso before digging through a mess of fabric in search of the bottom of his tracksuit. 

"Can we talk?" Harry asks as Louis finds it and slips it on.

"About what?" 

"About before." 

"We don’t have to. I… just," Louis sighs, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He turns to the side, angling one of his legs on the mattress while his other finds footing on the ground. He picks a piece of lint off his black trousers, letting it float to the ground. "I said that I don’t want to pressure you, but I feel like I still did." 

Harry shrugs, closing the journal. "See, you need someone normal —" 

"Stop it, don’t pull that shit on me now… c’mon. Normal is boring. Normal is what everyone can do." 

"You’re just saying that to make me feel better." Harry lowers his eyes to the journal in his lap. 

"I’m saying it because I mean it." 

"You might mean it now because you’re here, but in the city you’ll find someone better soon. You’re a catch. I’m sure you know that, but… I mean, I bet loads of people would love to be with you," Harry murmurs, playing with the hem of his shirt. 

"Harry, don’t," Louis rolls his eyes, his patience wearing out now. "There is nobody I’d rather be with. I haven’t been with anyone for a long time, you know? So, there is that." He shrugs helplessly, not knowing how to make himself any clearer. "I haven’t found anyone as interesting as you. Sex is great, but… it’s not _ everything _. You know what I mean? We can have other fun together." 

Harry takes a grand inhale and stills, his eyes darting to Louis. "I want to have sex with you, but every time… it just… you make me forget, Louis. You make me forget that I’m dead. Even when I was alive, I never felt this kind of alive, all these overwhelming sorts of emotions…" He glances away. "Not even with Johnny, and I feel really bad for saying that," he confesses in a quiet voice. "When I realised that I was a ghost, I looked for him everywhere. I thought since I had become a ghost, he would have too. But I haven’t seen him since that night before I found him dead the next morning. At first I thought he was hiding from me," he gazes at Louis again, "but can someone hide for such a long time? I’ve seen the girls a few times and if they aren’t hiding from me, why would he? Right? I asked some of the others, but they haven’t seen him either. So I guess he’s just gone. I gave up on looking for him after ten years or so. I’m dead and he is dead, but somehow we're a different kind of dead. I am here and he isn’t." 

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent and waits for Harry to continue. It doesn’t take long. 

"I just… you make it so easy to feel alive and I love that. When we kissed for the first time, I felt more alive than dead. So if a kiss can do that… then what will happen if we sleep together? What if I forget myself in the moment and can’t stop and… something happens and…"

"You repeat your past." It clicks in Louis’ brain, and he releases a shuddery breath. 

Harry nods. 

"Well, you won’t," Louis says, his voice firmer now, surprising both of them. This is all bullshit, to be frank. "We can go slow, if you want to. And it’s not like I don’t have a say in this. If I start feeling weird or whatever, I dunno, I will tell you. We’ll figure it out as we go. Nobody will die. Well…" Louis amends, "_ I _ won’t die." 

Harry snorts and they share a tiny smile. "C’mere. I just want to hold you for a moment. Is that okay?" 

"Course it is…" Louis says, crawling into Harry’s awaiting arms, laughing and falling forward as Harry decides he is too slow and yanks on his arm, wrapping his arms and legs around Louis’ body.

"Fine," Harry whispers into Louis’ neck after a moment. "We can try, I guess…"

"Whenever you’re ready," Louis says, his voice coming through his teeth because of how his chin is pressed against Harry’s shoulder. He can’t move, but he doesn’t mind it one bit. Harry kisses his skin, causing his heart to flutter and for a moment, everything is fine.

They will work through it together. 

* * * 

"Hey, I’m going into town. Do you need anything?" Louis asks, tapping his fingers in a one-two-three-four-five rhythm on the doorframe, his upper body leaning back to peek into the kitchen. 

Jay looks up from her tablet. "Oh, no. Thanks though, darling." She smiles before directing her attention back to the screen. She tucks a strand of her brown hair behind her ear and rubs below her nose, tapping the display once. 

Louis purses his lips and nods. "’Kay, see you later."

His car gives him some trouble since it has been standing in the heat for so long. Plus, he usually only takes it on the occasional short drive to the grocery store or to buy cigarettes at the petrol station.

Louis turns the keys and the car gives a soft purr before jumping to life. He takes a grand inhale in relief, ruffles his hair, and backs out of the driveway, using the road that leads to the forest to turn around. It takes a good mile for his phone to connect to the shabby car radio via bluetooth; then the sound of Alex Turner’s voice fills the inside of the car. Louis relaxes in his seat, hitting the gas pedal and speeding down the uneven road. _ Arctic Monkeys _ make every car ride better, no matter how short.

He thinks it best not to drive too far into town and have to pay double for parking, so he pulls over as soon as he passes the town sign and parks on the side of the street. Through the windshield, he spots a church a bit further down the road. Glancing behind him, there are only fields and trees. He nods to himself and waits for a car to pass him before opening the door and locking his car. He does his best to memorise his parking location to avoid later having to hold a search party for his car, then jogs across the street, hurrying up when a car comes into sight. He falls into a slower pace as he goes through an alley, his steps echoing off the walls. 

Louis finds himself in a street of shops out of pure luck. He passes a few clothing stores without giving them any attention. He knows what he wants and it’s definitely not a new pair of trousers or even that biker jacket that caught his eye when he passed the store window. Though perhaps he will come back for it later on his way back to the car. Until then, he can’t do more than glance over his shoulder and give a wishful sigh. He rolls his head side to side and quickens his steps until he reaches a promising store. 

As he pushes the door open, a little bell rings above his head. The store is small and everything seems to be made out of wood, from the floorboards to the shelves to the counter, behind which a lanky guy is sitting. He quickly looks up as Louis enters, and they nod at each other before the man buries his nose back into a magazine about motorbikes. It’s too quiet in the store, and Louis frowns, being far too aware of his soles slapping against the floor and the way his clothing makes soft noises with each step he takes further into the maze of high shelves. 

He stops as he passes the book selection and purses his lips at the first title that catches his eye: _ Harry Potter _ . Humming under his breath, he takes the first book out and smiles at the cover. Memories of hiding beneath the blanket in bed, holding a little flashlight to be able to read some more pages, though he was meant to be asleep, lick fondly at his heart. He only hid under the covers because it was such a _ Harry Potter _ kind of thing to do. It felt extra magical, being surrounded by darkness and shadows while being sucked into the world of an eleven year old boy. His mother never liked _ Harry Potter _ much, finding the names and spells confusing, so Louis was forced to read it himself rather than her reading it to him as a bedtime story.

With a sigh, he puts the book back between the others and moves on, rounding the shelf and walking through another section, this time cookbooks. He passes through fairly quickly because he hasn’t had anything to eat and the pictures of delicious looking food just remind him of that. He rubs his stomach and stops at a table near the stairs to the second level. 

Planners are spread out on the table, the ones for this year on sale for fifty percent off. He opens a simple black one and finds today’s date. From there, he flips ahead day by day, checking for the little moon symbol at the corner. He smiles a bit when he discovers another full moon will happen near the end of his stay here. He nods and closes the book again. Only a bit longer to go before he and Harry can have a great time at the lake or the pub. Either works for Louis as long as Harry is happy and enjoying his time out of the house. 

He moves on, a bit more excited now that he is in the right selection. His eyes take in the walls where a million different sorts of journals and notebooks are on display. 

Ever since Harry had mentioned that he misses writing, it hasn’t left Louis’ mind. When he woke up this morning to Harry still sleeping under the sheets, he thought it would be a perfect time to make a quick trip to buy one for him. 

Louis doesn’t want to get him another leather-bound journal because that’s what he had before. It's time for something new, like a symbol of a new era or summat. His previous journal was brown and rather worn out and black is too harsh of a colour, reminding Louis on the photo albums of Harry’s family — which he now realises are still in Zayn’s possession, damn — he guesses maybe a colourful one will be better. Or… is it too much? Maybe Harry doesn’t like colourful things. He barely wears any colours at all, switching from white to black to grey, but never wearing blue, green, red, or any other colour. So, would Harry like a red journal? Louis purses his lips, turning the notebook in his hands. No, he wouldn’t. He puts it back on the shelf and taps his index on his bottom lip. What about a mustard coloured one — no, no, _ god _ no. The colour is hideous. Harry would hate it. He doesn’t want Harry to hate it; he wants him to write in it.

He moves on to a grey journal. It’s heavy in his hands and the pages are thick, feeling kind of vintage beneath his fingertips, like parchment paper. The colour reminds Louis the gay-grey joke Harry made a while back. He allows himself a smile. The cover is leather and soft when Louis feels it between his hands. It’s nice. It’s a journal.

Louis never really cares what his own notebooks look like — he buys them at the dollar store and has an entire stack at home because every time he comes across notebooks on sale, he can’t resist. He has no self-control when it comes to that sort of thing. There was a time when he started collecting boxes, too, which was a weird quirk of sorts. At some point he had a huge moving box full of little boxes, but then he threw them all out at once. 

Anyways. Harry’s journal has to be special, good quality and whatnot. Louis starts chewing on his lip when he sees the price of it, but goes to the check-out anyway. He smiles at the salesman as he puts it on the counter and pays quickly. He is back out in the sun not a minute later, a small plastic bag looped around his forearm. The door falls shut behind him and the bells ring through the glass, muffled. He sighs and smiles, a bounce in his step as he passes the other stores again, keeping that biker jacket in mind.

"Louis?" 

Oh no. His smile drops. 

"Hey, mate, wait up!" 

Louis comes to a stop, checking over his shoulder. He wishes he had heard wrong, but of course he hadn’t.

Zayn is locking the door of a store that is so small, Louis hadn’t noticed it in passing. He waits as Zayn pockets his keys and jogs lightly towards him, his brown eyes scanning his face in concern. 

"Hey," Louis says, his voice pressed. 

"Liam missed you the last few days for your morning run. I thought something happened—" 

"Nothing happened, nothing will happen," Louis huffs, crossing his arms. "My best mate came for a visit." 

"Ah, alright," Zayn nods. For a moment, they level each other up in silence. Then, Zayn’s shoulders hunch and he sighs. "Can we talk?" 

No. 

"Now?" Louis pulls a grimace. 

"Sure, I’m on break." He thumbs over his shoulder to the store behind him and it clicks in Louis’ mind.

"Oh, that’s yours then?" Louis nods towards the door. 

"It is. If you’d like, you can check it out sometime." 

"Cool. Yeah, sure,” Louis says noncommittally.

"I was going to grab a quick bite at the café. Do you wanna join me?" 

Louis considers him for a moment. Something in Zayn’s eyes is off and he doesn’t like that one bit. But perhaps it’s nothing and Louis will be on his merry way home in no time. 

He gives in with a quiet nod.

Zayn smiles and they fall into step, Zayn leading the way. It’s not far, since, well nothing really is far in this town.

They choose to sit outside, where the chairs are rather unexpectedly uncomfortable and hard. Louis wiggles around until he finds a position that isn’t all too bad on his back, crossing his arms. 

"What’s up?" 

"What would you like to drink? It’s on me," Zayn says without looking at him, scanning the menu. 

"Why?"

"Because I feel like it," Zayn shrugs, sending him a small smile before going back to studying the food options. "I think I’ll have the tuna salad and a milkshake. What about you?" 

"Chocolate milkshake, I guess…" 

Zayn nods and when the waitress comes, he orders for both of them, making some chit chat with her since they apparently know each other. Louis watches from the sidelines as the girl asks about Liam, explaining that she is thinking about joining the gym and would need some help for a proper kick start because she is lacking motivation.

When she leaves, Zayn offers Louis a cigarette. They smoke until their milkshakes arrive, Zayn sucking on a strawberry one while Louis enjoys the creamy taste of chocolate. It feels like two friends hanging out and nothing more, but only until Zayn takes the last drag of his second cigarette and stubs it out on the glass ashtray, his eyes fixed on Louis’ face. 

"How are things with Harry?" 

There it is. "Great." 

"Nothing has changed yet?" Zayn lifts his brows. "Who was the shooter? Did he tell you?" 

Louis’ shoulders tense. He lowers his gaze to the white plastic table as he flicks the ash from his cigarette, his heart fluttering with nerves. 

"He explained everything," Louis says with a strained voice, smoke trapped in his lungs. He releases it through his nostrils and his fag joins Zayn’s in their grey grave. "And I think you already know the answer."

Based on their last conversation, Louis guesses Zayn is smart enough to have connected everything himself by now. He doesn’t need Louis to spell it for him.

Zayn’s dark, zen eyes roam over Louis’ face. He takes another sip of his strawberry milkshake. 

"Well, I told you I had my suspicions about him," Zayn shrugs, unfazed. "I couldn’t find anything about him on the internet like all the other victims, and since the shooter was unknown, too…" he trails off, leaning back in his chair and lighting another cigarette. 

Louis licks his lips, tasting chocolate. 

"What I am wondering about now is how you can forgive him. He shot people. He is a murderer and you’re still… what? Into him?" It’s the first time Zayn has shown any kind of emotion, disgust flashing over his face as he snorts around his fag.

"You know nothing about Harry. You don’t know why he did what he did. Those people he shot, they were a cult. They bathed in the blood of babies and had all these weird rituals — I mean, can you blame him for… like, snapping? They abused him badly, him and his sister. How much can a person take, Zee? Others have broken from way less. I don’t blame him." Louis shakes his head, hunching forward and planting his forearms on the table. He interlocks his fingers, his thumb stroking over his own skin. He starts rubbing the heels of his hands together, but it doesn’t help soothe his nerves. 

"You believe him?" 

"Nobody could come up with a story like that, Zayn." 

"He had twenty-five years," Zayn shrugs, taking another drag. "If I were guilty of committing such a crime…" he sighs, "I guess I would start believing my own lies, too." 

"Harry isn’t lying!" Louis hisses, staring at Zayn. 

Zayn watches a couple pass by their table, then his eyes turn back to Louis, his glare matching the heat that Louis feels boiling in his veins. 

"I know he isn’t lying," Louis says, firm. "The way he talks about it… what happened to him, his sister, and Johnny… you can’t fake those kinds of emotions. If you were there with him, with us, you would believe him, too." 

"Okay, let's say he killed his family because they murdered… babies," Zayn’s eyes narrow at the last word, his voice still set in tone of disbelief. It’s like Louis is a child trying to convince him that the man in his closet is real and he is going along with it to humour him, because the only other option would be to call him insane. "He is still a murderer. He shot a lot of people, man. Harry didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to do that. He had this whole thing planned out. He is just as much of a monster as they are. Wake up, Louis." 

"I’m wide awake," Louis sets his jaw. "He was acting in self-defence. He isn’t a bad person,” Louis pointedly ignores Zayn’s snort and cough, continuing, “He was raised in an abusive home. He endured hell." Louis grinds his teeth together, feeling a flush heat his skin. 

"You’re an idiot for falling for him," Zayn shakes his head. "I can’t believe this." 

"I might be an idiot, but at least I’m not as ignorant as you are." 

"I’m trying to look out for you." 

"Really? It feels more like harassment at this point." 

"Here’s your tuna salad, Zayn," the waitress chirps at their side, causing both of them to startle hard. "Have at it." She sets it down and smiles as Zayn mutters his thanks. "Can I get you anything, sweetie?" she asks, directed at Louis.

"Oh, no thanks, love." His smile feels strained on his lips. The moment she nods and turns her back to them, it drops. He watches Zayn pick at the green of his salad. "You know," he says slowly, "why don’t you just… keep your distance. If you don’t like Harry, I mean. Just let me be an idiot and Harry be a monster, if you think that’s what he is. It’s none of your business anyway. So why do you care so much?" 

Zayn swallows his food down, then shrugs, stabbing a piece of tuna. He points his fork at Louis, closing one of his eyes. "Because, I know this will end badly and I don’t want to be responsible for anything that might happen." 

"You won’t be." 

"I will, that’s the thing. Because I knew about it, so if I don’t act now… I don’t want to feel guilty for the rest of my life for letting things go too far." He plops a piece of tuna on his tongue, chewing slowly. "It’s more for my sake than yours." Zayn shrugs, nonchalant. Stabbing around his bowl of salad, he wrinkles his nose at a piece of hard boiled egg and shoves it to the side with his fork.

Louis takes another cigarette from Zayn’s pack and lights it. He doesn’t know what to say. It seems like nothing will hold Zayn back from intervening in his and Harry’s lives. He sucks harder on his fag, the nicotine doing little for his anxious mind. His leg starts to jiggle beneath the table. 

"You know, I was in love with a ghost once, too," Zayn murmurs into the too-long silence. "I was foolish. Thought it’d last forever because he made me feel like… I was the only person in this world who could make his… death more bearable." He cocks his head to the side, blinking at Louis through thick lashes. "Sound familiar?" He quirks an eyebrow and smiles around another mouthful of food. "I think it does. It’s because ghosts are like humans — we are all the same whether we like it or not. Everyone just wants to be loved. Ghosts crave it perhaps even more than we do because we still have a life ahead of us to live, to date, to find the right person to settle down with. But ghosts are stuck in one place, so when a human passes by… they take their chance, luring you in with all kinds of promises. I believed him too, all those sweet words about our everlasting love." He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "It lasted long enough. Too long, I guess. I would go to the house after school, I stopped seeing my friends, and I lied to my parents just so I could spend more time with him. I devoted myself to him and when I couldn’t make it, I felt guilty. Loving a ghost is unhealthy, Louis. It buries you alive. It makes you feel guilty about everything, things that you shouldn’t feel bad for. That you are breathing, and they aren’t — not really anyway. That you are capable of seeing places and going places, and they aren’t." 

"I’m sorry that you had to go through that," Louis murmurs, flicking ash off his cig. "But Harry —" 

"Isn’t different," Zayn interrupts, his voice gentle. "I’m sorry, Louis. This is just how it is." 

"He made me go running with Liam. He doesn’t want me to stay in just for him. He _ is _different. He doesn’t make me feel guilty at all. This is different, Zayn." Louis shakes his head, feeling a lump grow in his throat as he recalls his and Harry’s conversation yesterday about their future and long distance. It twists his heart. 

"Hmm…" Zayn puts his fork down and folds his hands beneath his chin. "I can’t really convince you to let it go, can I?" 

"No." 

"Well, your stay will end soon anyways, so I guess that problem will solve itself without me doing shit." Zayn grins like a cat that got the cream and Louis’ fingers twitch with the urge to jump across the table and strangle him. He slips them under his thighs, pressing his fingertips into his flesh to keep them from acting on their own accord. "But the other thing we talked about, yeah? I’m still working on that." 

Louis’ eyelid twitches. 

"Why didn’t you do it before?" Louis asks, his chest tight. "Why do you want to do it now?"

"Because the house wasn’t sold and it didn’t look very good. Nobody in this town would ever buy it, so why exhaust myself banishing ghosts that only I know live there? But since now your mum has moved in… don’t you think it’s a bit selfish of you?" Zayn tuts, shaking his head slowly in mock-disappointment. 

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, to any of this. _ Is _ he being selfish? As far as he knows, his mother is unaware that there are other people living alongside them in the shadows of the house. He is the only one any of the ghosts reached out to… well, mainly Harry and Amber. But what about that thing Amber is scared of? What is it? Louis wants to ask Zayn, but seeing as Zayn is already determined to get rid of Harry and everyone else, it would seal the deal if Louis brought it up now. He might be an idiot, but not _ that _ big of an idiot. Come on.

"Don’t worry. I won’t be ready for at least another week, yeah? You’ll have time to say goodbye to your ghost boyfriend and then you’ll go back to your real life anyway. What does it matter then? He can’t visit you," Zayn, now trying to be a proper arsehole, apparently, starts counting on his fingers, "he can’t go on a proper _ date _ with you, none of your friends will ever meet him, he can’t truly be supportive of what you do because that’d bring even _ more _ distance between you guys. Don’t you see it, Louis? You’re going to grow older — don’t you want to get married and live a normal life? Or do you want to stay in love with a nineteen year old dead person forever? Your relationship works now because you live with him. What happens when you move away?" 

"We’ll figure it out." 

"Mmhmm," Zayn hums, doubtful. "I’m doing you a fa—" 

"You aren’t. Do you think I could live with myself if I let you just chase Harry and his sister away?" Louis snarls. "I’d die. I can’t let anything happen to them. I just can’t. I love Harry, okay? Distance doesn’t matter to me. Just leave it alone. Please, don’t just don’t. Okay?" 

Zayn’s shoulders hunch in defeat. He gives a single shoulder shrug, not looking at Louis as he mutters, "Okay." 

"Good." 

"Not really," Zayn says, "and you’ll probably find that out soon enough." 

* * * 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hoped you enjoyed this very fluffy chapter! i had a ton of fun writing it. Let me know what you think of it down in the comments, I am so living for your reactions! <3


	15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Reading! xxx

* * * 

Zayn’s talk has had a sobering effect on Louis’ mood. His words sit murmuring in his bones as Louis unlocks the door to the house. The weather seems to agree because it has started drizzling rain on his drive home. 

"I was already worried you were lost," Jay greets him as he throws his key on the breakfast island and heaves himself onto one of the high stools with a tired sigh. "What happened? You don’t look so good, hun." She studies his profile carefully before turning back to the stove.

"I’m fine," Louis murmurs, bedding his cheek on his palm as he watches her swirl a wooden spoon around a pot set over the flame of the gas stove. The smell makes his stomach grumble, but he ignores it. His body might be hungry, but he has no appetite, the milkshake sitting like frozen lava in his belly. 

"Hmm…" She throws a dubious look over her shoulder before opening one of the hanging cabinets and getting the salt out, shaking it two careful times over the soup. "You know you can talk to me, yes?" 

"I know," Louis pouts, closing his eyes. "I just… don’t wanna leave, is all." 

"But I thought you enjoyed university?" 

"Yeah." 

"So what’s the issue?" 

_ Harry.  _

"Nothing, just… summer is ending and I like being here," Louis half-lies. "Time flew, it feels like," he trails off, chewing on his lip as he blinks his lids open. His mother’s back is turned to him and he is glad for that; having her eyes on him would probably cause him to say more than he wants to. He hops off the stool. "I’m going to nap for a while." 

"Don’t you want to eat something beforehand?" 

"I had a milkshake in town," Louis smiles weakly at her. "I’m not hungry. Maybe save some leftovers for me though, yeah?"

"Sure," she returns his smile.

He can feel her worried gaze following him until he is out of the kitchen, walking through the foyer and up the stairs, his little plastic bag swinging by his side and bumping every so often against his thigh.

It wasn’t a complete lie. He is actually pretty tired, the talk with Zayn having sucked most of the energy out of his body. Plus, he had only a handful of hours of sleep and troubled dreams. Amber might not dare to wake him for a walk or hand him a knife for whatever reason, but he doesn’t forget about her. She lives in the same place as he does, and that knowledge still gives him nightmares about the barn that cause him to jolt awake gasping desperately for air.

Harry mostly makes it better. His presence has the effect of calming Louis’ racing heart. Whenever he turns and looks at Harry, he is able to find sleep not long after that. But still, it’s a pain in the arse and he loses sleep over it, morning always coming around too soon. 

His room is empty, the sheets unmade and Harry’s journal placed on Louis’ pillow. Louis guesses that Harry lingered around for a bit since the guitar is out of its case and propped up against the closet door. Again, Louis wonders where Harry goes when he isn’t with Louis. Is he just chilling on the grounds, invisible? Is he wandering the hallways, not knowing where to go because Jay is in the kitchen or in the living room and it’d be too dangerous for him to just rest somewhere because there is a chance she’d notice that she isn’t alone? The same question applies to Amber — what does the little girl do all day? For the past twenty and five years at that? Why is she avoiding Harry? 

The last question is what makes him groan and flop face first onto the bed, breathing in his own sweat which clings to the sheets. 

Why would she avoid Harry though? That doesn’t make sense. Harry had told Louis that his parents made them suffer alone in the barn as punishment, so surely she knows — she has to know — that none of it was Harry’s fault. He had tried to get them out. At least, that’s what he told Louis.

Louis rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, folding his hands over his stomach. He toes off his trainers, the plastic bag rustling next to him with his movements. 

It’s all Zayn’s fault anyway. Louis believes Harry because he fucking believes him. Harry wasn’t lying, and he knows that. He fucking knows. End of story. 

The door opens and since there was no knock beforehand, Louis already knows without checking that it’s Harry. 

Harry moves over to him, standing in front of his shins without saying a word. Louis blinks up at him, smiling slightly as anxiety and doubt leave his mind because it’s Harry, for fuck’s sake. Harry, his Harry. 

Everything is fine.

Zayn can go fuck himself for making him doubt Harry’s words. 

"Hi," Louis murmurs, sitting upright.

Harry cocks his head to the side, his green eyes roaming over his face.

Louis gets up and stores the plastic bag in his suitcase rather quickly. It’s a replacement gift for Harry since he has already heard the song that Louis wrote for him multiple times. He throws Harry a quick smile.

"What’s up?" he asks, coming to a stand by the footrest of the bed. He puts his hands on his hips, his eyebrows twitching when Harry merely stares at him. He chuckles, confused by his silence. "Alright, you’re not talking. Did something… happen?" His eyebrows bump shortly. 

Harry shakes his head in a slow movement, his eyes never leaving Louis’. 

"Okay." 

Silence. 

"Okay…" Louis repeats, his forehead furrowing slightly. "Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I wanted to take a nap, but…" he shrugs, his glance flickering in the other direction then back at Harry. "We can do whatever, really," Louis adds at last. 

Harry takes a step towards him, his green eyes — which are intense most days anyway — are like two laser points directed at him. Something about him is unsettling. 

Louis huffs, forcing his tense shoulders to relax and his lips to form a grin. "If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. Seriously," he rolls his eyes lightly. 

Harry blows a breath out of his nostrils. It’s the only sound he has made so far and Louis guesses, well… it’s something. A start. 

"Charming, alright," he nods. "Let's watch something on YouTube then…" Louis passes Harry to reach the desk, getting his laptop out of the drawer and plopping it onto the mattress.

Harry is still watching him with a vacant expression.

A shiver runs down Louis’ spine. Okay, something isn’t right here. 

His eyebrows twitch. "Harry?" he asks, swallowing thickly as Harry tilts his head to the side, his gaze still not having left Louis’ face once. With slow steps, he creeps around the bed and comes to stand in front of Louis, stretching out his hand towards Louis’ face. 

The moment Harry’s fingertips touch his skin, it feels like someone has emptied a bucket of freezing water over his head. At the same time, a burning sensation explodes at the spot where Harry’s fingertips made contact with his cheek. 

In shock, Louis flinches. Holding his cheek with a wide-eyed look at Harry, he hisses at the pain that blooms there, pulsing. Goosebumps raise his hair. 

"Ah,  _ fuck _ …" he winces, blinking owlishly. "What was…." His words die on his tongue as he throws a frown at Harry and sees the boy grinning from ear to ear, an actual fucking sharp grin.

Harry bobs his head side to side, letting his arm that was still hovering in the air fall to his side. 

Fear tingles at Louis’ neck, cold sweat breaking out of his pores as they stare at each other, his cheek throbbing in pain. 

The door opens, and Louis drags his eyes slowly beyond Harry’s shoulder to a sight that causes his heartbeat to stutter and flatline at last. His gaze snaps back to Harry in front of him, then to another Harry who is standing in the doorway.

What? What the _bloody_ fuck?

Louis is frozen in place. 

Harry one turns to look at Harry two. 

Louis isn’t breathing.

Both versions of Harry stare at one another for a terrifying moment. Louis’ knees become weak. Just when Harry two is about to open his mouth to speak, daring a step inside the room, the other Harry, who had stroked Louis’ cheek, vanishes in front of their eyes. 

Louis’ jaw slacks in utter shock. 

Harry recovers more quickly than Louis and comes rushing over to him. "Are you okay?" he murmurs, his voice soft and careful.

"W-what… was that?" Louis stammers, staring at the spot where the other Harry disappeared into thin air. "What… I — what?" he stutters, his tongue fuzzy in his mouth, his brain shooting a ringing noise through his mind. "You… I… you… What?" He shakes Harry’s hand off his shoulders, taking a step backward. It’s not enough. He starts pacing in front of the bed, his body vibrating.

"I…" Harry starts, then stops. "Did it hurt you?" he asks at last, his eyes following Louis’ every move. 

Louis comes to a stand, his hand moving to cover his cheek. It still buzzes with pain which has spread to his jawline. Louis grinds his teeth together. 

"It did, didn’t it?" 

"How is that possible?" Louis asks, breathless, "You don’t… you don’t have a twin, do you?" 

Harry shakes his head, averting his gaze to the ground. He folds his arms behind his back. 

"What was it then?" Louis swallows thickly.

Harry tilts his head upward, glancing at him with one eye closed.

"You know," Louis crosses his arms.

"Uh, I have an idea." 

"What was it?" 

Harry pulls at his bottom lip, his thoughtful eyes on Louis. "I think… it was," he whispers, swallowing thickly, " _ her _ ." 

* * *

"Let me see your cheek, baby," Harry murmurs, lifting Louis’ chin with careful, gentle fingers.

Still, Louis jerks his head to the other side, his hand covering where  _ 'she' _ touched him as if he is suffering from tooth pain. It’s a pulsing ache as if someone had burned him with a cigarette. The pain hasn’t lessened so far. 

In the green of Harry’s eyes swims an entire ocean of sadness and concern. Louis drowns in it, but the thought of having Harry close is currently causing his stomach to tighten. That is why he takes a step back and plops on the desk chair, accepting the hurt that flashes over Harry’s features. 

Harry still follows him, leaning his bum against the desk. His shoulders hunch as he dips his chin to get a better look. 

"I’m so sorry," he murmurs. 

"It’s not your fault now, is it?" Louis casts his gaze down. 

Harry’s fingers start tapping nervously at the edge of the table. "Hm, not sure about that." 

"How could she look like you though? I mean —" Louis exhales, his hesitant eyes taking Harry in from head to toe, "she looked exactly like  _ you _ . I thought you were just acting really weird to scare me. You… she…" He frowns to himself, this is so fucking confusing. "She didn’t talk? She just… when she touched me and saw that it caused me pain, I swear she smiled." A shudder engulfs Louis’ body frame. He shakes with the memory of Harry’s face split in a creepy, frozen smile, his green eyes lacking any emotion, dull, empty, and staring at Louis like… he doesn’t know, but the feeling isn’t a good one. His stomach muscles tense. "It was so weird," he finishes with a brief glance at Harry. Then concentrates on the scratches on the table, his finger tracing over a long one near the edge, his index’s nail digging into it. 

"I don’t know," Harry’s fingers stop their dance abruptly. "Please, just lemme see your cheek. Is it still hurting?" 

Louis considers him for a moment, then slowly withdraws his hand and lets it plop lifelessly in his lap, angling his face upward. Harry hunches down, leaning closer to him, his eyes squinting.

"May I?" he asks, letting his hand hover in the air until Louis gives a shy nod. Licking his lips, he grips Louis’ chin between his thumb and index as he has done before, moving Louis’ head to the side so that he has a better view. He takes in a sharp breath. 

"What?" Louis asks through closed teeth. "What is it?" 

"It’s nothing," Harry rushes to answer. Louis balls his hands into fists at his thighs. "It’s just," Harry trails off, ruffling his curls. His fingers twitch before lightly touching the spot where Louis is hurting. 

Louis draws in a hissed breath through his teeth as a new wave of pain starts pounding on his skin. 

"Sorry, I just…" Harry moves backwards, releasing Louis’ chin. 

"What is it?" Louis repeats his question, touching his own cheek carefully, his fingers feeling around the skin. It doesn’t feel that different, just hot as if he had been out too long in the sun. 

"There is just this… I don’t know. It looks like something is spreading beneath your skin. Like you have been…" he swallows, "poisoned?"

Louis’ eyes widen to the size of plates.

"I don’t know!" Harry rushes out, holding up his hands like someone has him at gunpoint. "I seriously don’t know. I’m just trying to describe it. That doesn’t mean you were actually poisoned." 

"I’ll check it out," Louis says, standing up with wobbly knees. He doesn’t look at Harry again as he closes the door softly behind him and goes to the bathroom, hoping he won’t run into his mum. 

He leaves the bathroom door ajar and flicks on the light, closing his eyes as he steps up to the washbasin, his fingers winding around the ceramic rim. His heart pounds hard. He doesn’t want to look, a feeling in his gut telling him that Harry wasn’t being extra about this, that his reaction was genuine. Whatever he will find on his face isn’t something that he can stomach easily, he guesses. 

He was right about that one. He stares at his reflection in panicked shock after he finally dared to have a look. 

"What…" he whispers hoarsely, his fingers stretching the skin on his cheek as if he were examining a pimple. Fuck. He wishes it was something as small as a red pimple. It’s not, though. Definitely not. 

There, where that  _ thing _ — yes, let's go with  _ 'thing' _ — touched him, is a small but visible red circle. It could be a pimple, except there is no small bulge. It’s just… a little red spot. Around the spot, his veins are spread like how he can see them on his arms. But the veins on his forearms are blue beneath his skin, and those that are leading away from the dot are… greyish. It reminds him of a spiderweb.

He swallows, lifting his chin to check his throat. One of the veins, the thickest, the most visible of them all, weaves its way over his jaw down to the hollow of his throat. Louis takes another deep breath, his pulse point making the thin skin rise and fall with each hectic beat. He turns his head downward again, inspecting the spot another time. He notices now that his skin is a slight greyish tone, too, whereas his 'good' cheek looks tanned and normal. Harry was right: it looks like a sickness is spreading beneath his skin. 

This cannot be happening. Louis closes his eyes. He doesn’t even know what exactly is happening. It’s bad, he knows at least that. 

"Are you okay?" 

He jumps in the air, startled, having not expected company. He makes eye contact with Harry through the mirror, pressing a hand over where his heart is hammering in his chest. 

"What is this?" Louis asks. "Have you seen anything like it before?" 

Harry shakes his head, no. 

"I don’t feel so well," he says, turning and thoughtlessly wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle, needing something to hold on to, needing to be close to someone. He had guessed that Harry embracing him too would make it better, but it doesn’t. It just makes him feel weak and pitied. 

"I’ll see what I can do. Is it still hurting?" Harry tilts his head down, forcing eye contact. 

"It’s kinda hot… feels like a sunburn," Louis shrugs, at a loss. He is still confused, still scared. His mind is all over the place. 

"I'm gonna get you a cooling pad, yes?" 

Louis nods, his hands falling to his sides. He watches, chewing on his bottom lip, as Harry turns and marches down the hallway. He hears him talking to his mother, their voices coming up the stairs as soft murmurs.

Now alone again, Louis glances around the bathroom and swallows. Figuring it’d be better to wait for Harry in his bedroom, he shuffles to his bed and sits down, staring at the floor between the gap of his thighs. His injury doesn’t hurt as much anymore. It has developed into a dull pain, like the aftermath of Niall kicking his shins or him stubbing his toe against the door, still feeling it for a while afterwards. He sighs. That must be a good sign, yes? He slides his bare feet over the ground. 

Perhaps they are worrying too much about it. Poisoned? Harry has never poisoned him with a touch. Whatever that thing is… it cannot have the ability to poison anyone. That’s unlikely.

Yet Harry also cannot shapeshift into another person, so there is that. If Louis has learned anything this summer, it’s that nothing is impossible and there is more to this world than people know about. Maybe one day he will wake up to a unicorn grazing in the garden and a mermaid bathing in the river.

He sighs. This isn’t helping. At all. 

"Sorry, I’m here, I’m here!" Harry comes hurrying into the room, a promising cooling pad in one hand, his other brushing through his hair in a hectic manner. "Jay wanted me to join her for some snacks since I said that you were napping and I was having a headache." He drops to his knees in front of Louis, pressing the cooling pad to his injured cheek.

Louis relaxes the moment it makes contact with his skin. The coldness numbs the tingling sensation that started a few seconds ago and he sighs in relief.

"Is it good?" Harry asks. 

"Yeah…" Louis says, laying his hand on top of Harry’s. "Thank you." 

Harry scoffs, glancing away for a second. "It’s the least I can do." 

Right. 

Louis starts chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

Harry slips his hand out from beneath Louis’ and stands up, taking a seat next to him. Louis presses the cooling pad more against his cheek. 

"Why did she do that?" Louis asks what has been running through his mind ever since Harry came out with it. "Why? I have done nothing to her. I haven’t even met her, like in her true… shape?" He frowns to himself, having no better way to describe it. "What is the point?" 

Harry gives a helpless shrug, fumbling with the hem of his black shirt. "I’ll go look for her once your parents go to bed." 

"No," Louis tenses, "you can’t. What if she hurts you, too?" 

To Louis’ utter surprise, Harry scoffs at that. "No she won’t." He shakes his head. "She’s just lonely like I used to be. She doesn’t mean any harm… maybe it was an accident. No," Harry’s eyebrows furrow, "It  _ must _ have been an accident. Perhaps she didn’t know that her touch would hurt you." 

"Harry, she was smiling. Like… kind of gleefully," Louis says carefully. 

Harry is shaking his head again, his body tense next to Louis. "No, I think… I’ll just talk to her, okay? Let me fix this." He looks at Louis with earnest, begging, green eyes.

Louis wants to say ‘no, stay, don’t look for her, are you insane?’ but doesn’t. Harry has been living in this house for a long time and has known  _ 'her' _ since his childhood. He knows her better than Louis though from what he saw and what he experienced, she is to be avoided at all costs. 

His tummy expands with a grand inhale. "If you think it’d be a good idea…" He weighs his head doubtfully from side to side. 

"I do," Harry says. "Maybe she was just curious about you and since she knows we hang out, thought the easiest way to meet you would be to pretend to be me." 

Is Harry hearing himself talk? Louis blinks, dumbfounded. 

"She… Well, her appearance of her true self is…" Harry trails off, his eyes staring ahead. For a moment he seems to be far away, then he shakes himself out of it. "She’s shy about it. It’s something else, not what everyone would understand." 

Louis has no idea what that means. "You did though." 

"I love her. If you love someone, it's a bit different. You wouldn’t care what Niall looks like either, right?" 

"Of course not."

Harry shrugs. "There you have it. Do you want me to go?" 

Louis’ eyebrows raise in surprise. "No? Obviously not. Where is this coming from now?" 

"I just thought you —"

"Shut up," Louis smiles. "It wasn’t your fault, alright? I want you to stay. I’m sorry about earlier." 

"I’ll play you a song to make it better." 

"What song?" 

Harry grins. "You’ll see…" 

* * *

Louis is sitting on the bed, his back resting against the wood of the headrest. He had abandoned the cooling pad once it started to become warm, but his cheek is still wonderfully numb and the pain is nonexistent at this point, which is a great relief. Harry says that the veins are less visible now, too. It has only been half an hour, so both of them guess that it will be gone by the morning. 

Harry is sitting on the armchair, taking deep inhales as his fingers tap the neck of Niall’s guitar. "Since you wrote me a song, I wrote you one too," he says. "It’s not… as happy as yours, though. I wanted to save it for later, but I just have a feeling that today is the right time. Also I think it’d be too sad to sing it just once for you. This way maybe I’ll get to sing it a few times before you leave," Harry rambles on. "I’ve never written a song for anyone, so this might actually suck." He scrunches his nose upward and Louis’ heart melts in his chest. He smiles at Harry as best as he can with half of his face numb and all. "I just… wanted to give something back to you. You have done so much for me and I’m sure you’re not even aware of it." Harry chuckles, glancing at his knees for a second. "I’m nervous, I’m sorry." 

Louis chuckles too, crossing his legs at his ankles. "I love you," he says simply. 

"I love you too," Harry replies. Then a look of concentration settles over his features. 

Louis holds his breath as Harry’s fingers start picking the strings. The sound alone sobers Louis and a rope of sadness winds around his heart as he watches Harry tilt his chin to his chest and close his eyes. 

" _ If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you, _ " Harry croons. Louis swallows, his heart doing backflips in his chest as Harry sings on, " _ I think I might give up everything, just ask me to. _ " He takes a shuddering inhale and glances at Louis briefly before shutting him out again, " _ Pay attention, I hope that you listen 'cause I let my guard down. _ "

Louis knows exactly what Harry is talking about in his song, the memory sweeping through his mind, the day that Harry told him everything, about his past, about what happened, then again about Johnny and his sister, all the pain he had to endure. Louis' heart squeezes.

" _ Right now I’m completely defenceless, _ ” he pauses, exhaling audibly. “ _ For your eyes only, I’ll show you my heart. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart. Now you know me, for your eyes only _ ." 

Tears spring into Louis’ eyes. He has been the only person Harry has opened up to in such a long time. He swallows around the growing lump in his throat which threatens to strangle him. 

" _ I’ve got scars, even though they can’t always be seen. And pain gets hard, but now you’re here and I don’t feel a thing. I can feel your heart inside of mine, I feel it, I feel it. I've been going out of my mind, I feel it, I feel it. Know that I'm just wasting time. And I hope that you don't run from me... _ " 

A single tear rolls down Louis’ cheeks. He wipes it away with the back of his hand and sniffs softly, his eyes never leaving Harry. 

" _ Pay attention, I hope that you listen 'cause I let my guard down. Right now I’m completely defenceless. For your eyes only, I show you my heart. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart. Now you know me, for your eyes only…. _ " Harry sniffs too, and for a moment, only the sound of the guitar fills the room. Then he opens his lips, his voice now shakier than before, " _ For your eyes only, I’ll show you my heart. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half… half, _ " Harry’s voice cracks, he inhales deeply, " _ hold of me when we’re apart… now you know me, for your eyes only. For your eyes only, for your eyes only… f-for your e-eyes, _ " he sniffs again, " _ for your eyes only… _ " Harry strums the guitar a few more times, then lets the music subside into utter silence, only their sniffling to be heard. 

Louis is crying. Harry is crying. 

Both of them need a prolonged moment to collect themselves. 

"Harry…" Louis whimpers, "c’mere, love." He opens his arms. 

Harry disappears but then before Louis’ heart can sink, he’s got an armful of Harry on his chest, hiding his face in Louis’ shoulder. Louis buries his nose in his curls, and Harry winds an arm around his middle, holding him tight. 

"That… that was so beautiful," Louis murmurs into his curls. "Thank you. I love it." If there is one song in his life he will always love, a song he will carry around his heart with him forever, it’s that song. Harry’s song. Harry’s song for… him. He swallows. Harry wrote him a song. Jesus. "Thank you," he says again, choked up. "Thank you…" He kisses the top of Harry’s head, repeatedly. 

Harry chuckles wetly, lifting his face out of its hiding spot. In his green eyes, swim tears. "You’re starting to sound like me." 

Louis smiles, wiping tears off Harry’s cheeks with his thumbs. "Well, it’s not a bad thing now, is it? I really mean it, though," he says. "I love it, it’s beautiful. Thank you." 

"I love you," Harry murmurs, before his lips ghost over Louis’. "I wanted it to be special, like, as a goodbye gift. But I thought that would hurt too much and now look at me, I’m  _ already _ a mess and we’ve still got some time left." 

"I’m glad you showed me your song now," Louis whispers, "because I want you to sing it for me every night before we go to sleep from today on." 

Harry grins, his dimples deepening. "I can do that." 

"Every night," Louis says again as a playful warning, tapping Harry’s nose. "Over, and over, and over again…" He grins at Harry’s faux-painful groan. 

"What have I done?" Harry giggles, kissing Louis’ nose in return. 

"Sing it again for me, yes?" 

Harry smiles tenderly. "Of course." 

* * * 

After Louis made Harry play and sing  _ 'If I could fly'  _ for him three times in a row, they find themselves on Louis' bed yet again. Harry’s voice, unused to singing for such a long time, is hoarse and extra raspy and deep. It has all made Louis forget for a while what happened after he came home. His cheek is looking much better already, only a small red spot remaining. He eliminates the bizarre idea that he was poisoned by the time the sun has sunk low on the horizon. He is stroking Harry’s back and feeling comfortable with the weight of Harry’s head on his chest, his eyes closed. Harry’s breathing is a soothing, calm sound in his ears. 

"I think I want to try," Harry murmurs. 

"Try what…?" Louis presses his index and his thumb at the inner corner of each his eyes before blinking them open and glancing at Harry with raised brows. 

Harry’s gaze is intense, and there is a determined shimmer in the evergreen that suggests something Louis can’t quite grasp the meaning of. He tracks Harry’s slow roll of his tongue as the boy wets his lips. Butterflies come to life in his tummy as realisation dawns on him like the setting sunlight.

"Are you sure?" Louis asks, tucking a single curl behind Harry’s ear. "We don’t have to do anything. I told you. No pressure." 

"Yeah, but I was thinking," Harry says, unwrapping himself and sitting back on his calves, his thighs stretching as he balances himself. "You’re leaving so bloody soon. I don’t know when you’ll be able to come back and I… honestly, I’d hate myself if I just let you slip away like that without even… trying." 

"You don’t have to push yourself to do anything you’re uncomfortable with for me. I don’t like that; I wouldn’t want that." 

"I know," Harry says, slowly, "but I want to." 

"Where is this coming from?" Louis frowns. It seems out of nowhere. Harry had said he needed time, and only a day has passed since then. Twenty-four short hours. 

"Don’t you want to?" Harry’s brows push together. 

"This isn’t about what I want. You know that I want you, Harry. This is about boundaries and… what  _ you _ want." 

"Well, I want you, so…" he trails off with a single shoulder shrug. Harry rubs below his nose and glances to Louis’ desk, staring at it. "I’m not over everything and I don’t know what will happen when we have… sex, but we can do other things first. Nothing happened when I gave you a handjob the other night. Maybe I’m just being overly paranoid." 

Harry’s explanation would be fine if it weren’t for the little hint in his eyes that tells Louis this isn’t everything, that there is more to it. Yet Louis can’t think of what else it could be. Perhaps it’s truly that their time is running out and Harry is becoming desperate. 

"I mean," Harry starts again, tugging on his own hair as his eyes settle on Louis. "You’ll be leaving soon and in Bristol there will be other people and… like, there are so many more options, easier options for you than me. I’m a complicated… freak so there is that, right? And now I have you, but who knows what will happen in the future, right? I wouldn’t blame you —" 

"We already went over this, H," Louis sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "There are no other people for me in Bristol or London or New York or fucking Japan for all I care, okay?" He sits up straighter, pinning Harry with a heated gaze. "This sounds like you don’t trust me? I wouldn’t cheat on you. I’ve never cheated in my life on anyone. We talked about it at the pub, remember? You said you don’t do one night stands and I said that I don’t either. All I can say, Harry, and I’ll remind you every day if I must, is that I’m in this with my whole heart. I love you. I fucking love you, okay? Like I’m not saying that just… to what? Say it for the sake of saying it?" he huffs, offended by the mere thought. "If you really think I’m that kind of person, I dunno…" 

"That’s not what I meant at all," Harry gives him a wide-eyed look. "I’m just… sharing my fears with you. I’m not accusing you of anything." 

"Do you know what my fear is?" Louis asks, waiting for Harry to shake his head. When he does, he continues, "I am _scared_ _to go back to Bristol_. I don’t wanna leave you here all alone, knowing you can’t go anywhere. I don’t like that at all." 

"At least I have something now to look forward to — when you’ll be coming back," Harry says. 

"Maybe…" Louis starts slowly. "Okay this is nuts and probably too early, but what if I look into universities here in the area?" 

"You love Bristol." 

"I love you more." 

They stare at each other. 

"It’s too late to switch now anyway, but maybe for next semester," Louis says. "Until then, we’ll do long distance. It’s that easy, okay? My mum is pregnant, so maybe she’ll need help with the baby. Matt will be at work so… perhaps it’ll be good for everyone involved." 

"What about Niall?" 

Louis shrugs, lowering his eyes. "I’ll visit him; he’ll visit me. We’ll do long distance then," he throws in as a joke, smiling at Harry. "He’ll probably want to move back home to Ireland once he has graduated, so we would have to do that anyway." 

Harry hums. "I won’t be saying anything to that because it has to be your decision, but of course I would love it if you’d live here, at least for a while. But you have to want it. You’ve told me so much about Bristol and Niall and your life there and… it’d hurt me more if you were to just leave that all behind just for me." 

"In your song you say,  _ 'I think I might give up everything, just ask me to,' _ and for me it’s no different." 

"Don’t use my own lyrics against me." 

"Too late," Louis grins shortly. "It’s not a set-in-stone decision. I’m just considering it, that is all." 

The thought of Zayn making his plan happen looms in the back of his mind, but he waves it away, concentrating on the now and the fact that Zayn hasn’t followed through so far. It’s all just scary talk on his side. Hopefully. Potentially.

"You’d do that for… me?" Harry whispers. 

"I’d do anything for you." 

"Okay, then promise me not to give up your entire life just to be with me," Harry says, his face set in a painful expression. 

Louis sighs, "I promise. If I move here, I promise you I’ll have thought this through and honestly, it’s not like I can’t just pack my shit and leave again, you know? So what if I finish university here? So what if I choose to spend a few years by your side and then we do long distance? We can think about everything when it comes to it, but for now I’m just… playing with the thought of moving here when the semester is over." He shrugs. "Don’t make it so complicated, alright? Baby steps." 

Harry is hesitant for a moment, his eyes flickering over every inch of Louis’ face before he, too, sighs and relaxes. "Okay," he whispers, "okay… that actually sounds alright." 

Louis smiles. "Of course it does, silly. It’s not like earth-shattering or anything. It’ll be just like this." He moves his hand, gesturing to the entire room as a whole. "Us, this house, and my parents, but I’ll go to university in the morning and we won’t see each other mostly during the day. If I get tired of being here, I’ll just move to another city. Easy, okay?" 

Harry returns his smile. "Just think about it a bit more, before making a decision." 

"We have a year to figure things out. It’s an option, that’s all. Until then we’ll do long distance anyway." 

Finally, Harry relaxes completely. "I love you," he murmurs, leaning forward and pecking Louis’ cheek. 

"I love you, too."

"So, sex?" Harry grins.

Louis barks a surprised laugh, the skin around his eyes wrinkling happily. Shaking his head, he cups the nape of Harry’s neck, bringing their still smiling lips together. "Our conversations are all over the place today," he says after they part. 

Harry shrugs. "We have a lot to discuss." 

"This really feels like adulthood, now," Louis rolls his eyes, smiling at Harry. 

"Feels good." 

"Yeah, it does." 

* * * 

After their talk, Louis ends up taking a nap. The events of the day, from Zayn’s talk to a Harry lookalike touching him, had lured him into a state of exhaustion so even though he wanted to stay awake and talk more with Harry and be with him as much as he can, his body had other plans. He fell asleep in Harry’s arms, feeling safe and happy, knowing that if Harry is with him, nothing can happen to him. 

Resurfacing out of his dreams is a long process. He drifts in and out, sometimes getting a glimpse of Harry’s face, then the darkness that is lingering in the room, before it’s all black again and he sinks into another few minutes of quiet slumber, Harry’s body a steady weight next to him.

At last, he flutters his lashes open. The light of the nightstand is on, illuminating the room in a soft glow. Fingers stroke through his hair, the feeling so comfortable and soothing that it almost has the strength to send him back into dream-land. Before that can happen, Louis groans and shifts on the mattress, leaning more into the touch while he blinks his eyes rapidly, fully regaining his senses. He turns his head, looking at the journal Harry is reading through, and smiles before blowing air out of his nostrils. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Harry murmurs, his fingers still combing through Louis’ hair in a three beat rhythm like he’s petting a cat. Louis might just start purring. 

"Morning," Louis smacks his lips together, "wa’time’s’it?" 

"Hm," Harry snaps the journal shut, "around seven in the evening." 

"Ugh," Louis closes his eyes. "I slept longer than I wanted. Why didn’t you wake me?" 

"You looked cute," Harry tugs on some strands of Louis’ hair, "all snoring with your mouth hanging open." 

"Shut up, I don’t snore," Louis pouts. 

"Beg to differ," Harry smiles down at him, his hand wandering from his hair to his shoulder and stroking down his arm until their fingers interlock, Harry’s on top of Louis’. 

"Pshh," Louis rolls his eyes, leaning the back of his head more into the curve of Harry’s shoulder. "What have you been doing all this time? Reading?" 

"I just started going through it," Louis feels Harry shrug. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Louis wonders, staring at the knot of their fingers on his hip. 

"There’s nothing really to talk about. Just poems and scribblings, not really anything of importance." 

"I quite liked them. I mean… they are haunting and depressing, but beautiful nonetheless." 

"Thanks," Harry says with a sigh. "I never got the hang out of just writing as in  _ 'hi diary, this happened, _ ' so either poetry or song lyrics were my kind of thing. You were the first to discover it. I always kept it hidden under my mattress." 

Louis untangles their fingers and stretches his torso forward, pointing at his toes. The joints of his back crack and he groans in satisfaction, nuzzling his own arm as he blinks back at Harry. Harry lets his fingers walk over his spine and Louis shivers at the light touch. Harry smiles at him. Louis returns it. 

"Are you hungry?" Harry asks, his fingers walking to his shoulder and tickling Louis’ neck. Louis swats at them with a giggle. 

"Not really." 

"Have you eaten today at all?" 

"I had a milkshake." 

"You should eat something," Harry frowns. 

Louis purses his lips, "I’m not really hungry, dunno." It’s odd, and he only notices it now, but the thought of food raises bile in his throat. He frowns it away and swallows. Perhaps it’s just that kind of day. Usually when he is under a lot of stress, he mostly forgets to eat and only is reminded of it when Niall voices that he himself is starving. Coffee mostly keeps him full and energised. Anyway. He turns his body towards Harry. 

"The next full moon is soon," Louis says. "I thought we could do something fun since it’ll be our last together." 

Harry nods. "I have something planned, actually." 

"Oh," Louis averts his eyes, fumbling with the blanket between his fingers. 

Harry chuckles. "Obviously involving you, idiot." 

"Oh," Louis repeats, but this time in surprise rather than sadness. 

"Yeah, you’ll see. I hope you’ll like it." 

"I’m sure I will," Louis smiles, his neck heating and his mind racing through possibilities of what Harry could have in store for them to do. There isn’t much in this town, not even something simple as a cinema. Nope, all they have here is fields and cows, a lake, one restaurant, and one café. That restricts their options for a fun night, but something in Harry’s eyes tells Louis that it won’t matter because whatever Harry decides that they will do, they will make it fun. 

"C’mere," Harry murmurs, "you’re too far away…" 

Louis doesn’t have to be told twice. He crawls into Harry’s awaiting arms, which loop around his back the moment he comes into reach. He draws in Harry’s smell, sweet and warm, and sighs wistfully. He will miss Harry so much when he’s in Bristol. Louis sits back and rights himself on Harry’s lap, sucking in his tummy as Harry tugs on the hem of his shirt before slipping a hand beneath the fabric and pressing it over his happy trail. 

His eyebrows raise at Harry’s hand, and he looks at Harry, a bit puzzled, a bit surprised. 

"I told you I wanna try," Harry murmurs with a shrug like it’s nothing, but the memory of Harry pleading him to stop touching him is still fresh in Louis’ mind.

Louis swallows. It had hurt to hear Harry speak with so much fear in his voice, all directed at him. 

Now, however, all Louis can see in the green of Harry’s eyes is dark lust and perhaps a bit of nervousness, but Louis feels that, too. It mixes with a hot ball in his tummy as Harry presses his hand flat against his stomach before creeping it lower until his fingers are playing at Louis’ waistline, his eyes silently asking for permission to go further. 

"We can stop anytime you want us to," Louis murmurs breathlessly.

Harry nods and winds his arms around Louis, pulling him against his chest in a quick, smooth movement. Louis holds his breath but loses it altogether when Harry’s lips crush against on his own with a promising force. It feels as if Louis isn’t the only one who had to withdraw when it got too heated over the past weeks, Harry feeling the same pain and choosing to release it now as his lips move against Louis’, parting them. He slips his tongue inside Louis’ mouth, keen to explore, keen to feel its way around. The way Harry is holding him, the way he kisses Louis, it feels like something within Harry has changed. Louis greets that change with an excited rumble of his throat. 

It doesn’t take long for Harry to grow even more impatient. It’s like he wants to make up for lost time, like he wants it to be over because he is nervous. Louis can tell by the way his shoulders shake, the way his kisses are too hectic, and the way his cheeks are coloured in a shade of salmon. 

“Hold on,” Louis says between kisses, pushing Harry from him slightly but keeping him close with a looped arm around his nape. 

“What? Did I do something wrong? What is it?” Harry asks, his voice breathy and his eyes searching Louis’ for an answer. 

Louis smiles, smoothing the fine worry wrinkles knit on Harry’s forehead with his thumb. Fondness seeps through him as Harry’s lashes flutter at his touch and the boy relaxes in his arms. “You have done nothing wrong,” he says, surprised by how soft his voice is. “Nothing at all, babe. Just… slow down, yeah? We have all the time in the world. We’ve waited for so long, I don’t want it to be over in a heartbeat. Alright?” 

“Y-yeah, I just wanna… like…” Harry pinches his lashes shut, shaking his head to himself before he finds Louis’ gaze again, a smile tugging on his lips. “I just want this to be good. I want to be good. You know I haven’t had, well, ugh, it’s been a long time. I’m bloody nervous, okay? There you go,” Harry groans, dropping his head. “This is embarrassing.” 

Louis can’t restrain a light chuckle.

“Great. Now you’re laughing at me.” 

“You’re bloody cute,” Louis says, shaking his head slowly at the boy in his arms, endeared. “You’re lovely, H.” 

“Lovely? Cute?” Harry scrunches his nose and twists his mouth as he lowers his lashes. It does nothing but make him look even cuter. Louis’ heart mewls at the sight. 

He pecks Harry’s nose, then the space between his eyebrows and then both of his cheekbones. “Very cute, so,” he murmurs into his skin. “The cutest. The loveliest,” he teases, nosing along Harry’s neck and chuckling as Harry groans miserably against his collarbone. 

“I’ll show you cute,” Harry growls into the fabric of Louis’ shirt. 

“I’m very intimidated,” Louis deadpans, biting down a smile. 

“You’d better be,” Harry plants a kiss on his neck that sends a shiver directly down Louis’ spine. He loses track of why they are having this conversation when Harry nibbles on his skin and Louis rolls his head, exposing more of his throat for Harry to mark. 

In one sweeping movement, Harry helps Louis get rid of his shirt, tossing it to the side and closing the distance between them as he suckles harshly on Louis’ sternum. The way his teeth bite on his skin feels possessive, as if Harry wants to claim him and make him his completely. That thought draws a long whine out of Louis from deep in his whirling stomach. His fingers card through Harry’s hair, knowing that he loves it when Louis tugs on the ends. So he does just that, earning a blissful groan from the boy. Harry moves his hips up, in the moment, and Louis starts rolling his back against him in a lazy rhythm. They both hiss as their clothed cocks line up and rub together under the fabric of their trousers. Louis keeps up the slow gyration, enjoying the shudders that wrack Harry’s frame. He twists a piece of Harry’s hair to keep himself grounded and not start floating in the air just yet. 

It’s too soon. They just started. He stops moving on top of Harry, opening his eyes — although he doesn’t remember closing them in the first place — and feeling Harry’s stuttered exhale warm his skin. 

Apparently, Harry has lost all his nervousness. He grips Louis’ love handles in a confident hold, encouraging him to pick up his grinding once more, and honest to God, who is Louis to deny Harry such a thing? He begins circling his lower body, deliciously slow to savour the sensation that sweeps through his body, making him moan into Harry’s curls. He feels himself filling slowly but surely, his cock twitching, begging to be touched and released. Louis jerks his hips forward in surprise as Harry gropes his bum. Another whine leaves his slackened mouth, sounding needy and desperate, too high and too loud. 

In mutual agreement their lips find one another blindly. Louis is still tugging on Harry’s hair, and Harry is still kneading Louis’ butt. When their lips meet, Louis’ body is devoured by a feverish heat which only adds to the ball of desire at the lower part of his spine. Their kiss turns clumsy as they grow increasingly desperate for more and more contact. It’s the type of connection Louis has craved ever since the very moment that Harry invited him into his world at the lake, exposing a part of him that nobody but Louis has ever gotten to see. 

His love for Harry is pulsing in his heart, pumping life through his veins rather than blood itself. It makes him whimper into the heat of Harry’s mouth. He won’t admit it later, but he even tears up. Louis sniffs and hides his emotions with a luscious bite on Harry’s bottom lip, making the other boy squirm underneath him as if to stop himself from bucking upwards. Louis swallows Harry’s long moan, carrying it within him when they part, savouring it to forever remember the breathless, hot sound. 

Louis’ fingernails graze Harry’s scalp, where he anchors himself so as not to get too overwhelmed and ruin it. Still, there are tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. He pinches them tightly shut, his forehead knitting as Harry strokes his back, running his hand between his naked shoulder blades and up to cup his nape. They part with a wet noise, both of their lips raw, swollen, and slick with mixed saliva. 

Harry is an alluring sight and it knocks breath right out of Louis’ lungs when their gazes interlock. Harry’s hair is tousled and a wild mess, his usually pale skin dotted with red spots. He looks like a sin that Louis wants to go to hell for. 

“Are you okay?” Harry murmurs, his thumb wiping away a single tear that had escaped Louis’ eyes without him noticing.

Louis blinks rapidly, trying to get a hold of himself. “I am,” Louis says, his voice is laced with an underlying emotion that isn’t quite readable. “I’m just…” he sniffs, smiling as another droplet squeezes out of his eye. “Nothing, don’t mind me. I’m being silly.” 

Harry’s face is overtaken by a small frown as they gaze at each other.

Louis swallows.

“I feel the same, though,” Harry says, soft and quiet.

“I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

An invisible rope ties them together and Louis blinks away his remaining stubborn tears, deciding that they have no place in this moment in time. He gives a wobbly smile to the boy in his arms, kissing the tip of his nose.

Harry chuckles lowly and hides his face in the curve of Louis’ throat. 

“You’re wearing too much,” Louis says, tugging teasingly at the hem of Harry’s shirt to lighten the emotionally charged air. “That’s just not working for me, H. I’m half-naked here.” 

With a loud inhale through his nostrils, Harry withdraws his head from Louis, losing his grin when Louis catches his earlobe between his teeth and nibbles gingerly. Harry shivers. 

“May I?” Louis asks, his fingers starting to lift Harry’s shirt. Before he does more than that, he forces eye contact, waiting for a confirmation that it is, indeed, okay. It comes rather quickly in the form of a nod, although Harry is smiling at him nervously, his lips red and puffy. Louis pecks them quickly before nodding too. Then, Harry stretches his arms upward and Louis pulls the shirt off him, accidentally messing up his hair and getting it into his mouth. Chuckling, he flicks Harry’s hair to the side and out of his face again.

They share a quiet moment before Louis becomes restless and needy, feeling his cock throb against Harry’s. 

"Can I?" Louis asks, fluttering his lashes. "Or do you want to…" 

"Let me," Harry says, guiding Louis off him and with a soft press of his hand, pushing against the middle of his chest to lay Louis on his back.

Harry hovers over him, taking him in. His eyes roam over his half-bare body and Louis can feel his gaze as if it were touching him physically. He presses his hips into the mattress to keep himself from rocking upward into the air. 

Louis feels like a breathless mess already. This is the most emotional sexual encounter of his life and he never wants it to end. He is enjoying every second of Harry’s hands, eyes, and lips on him. He cradles the nape of Harry’s neck, applying pressure until Harry comes willingly, their mouths lined up in a soft kiss. Louis exhales through his nose as Harry’s loose curls tickle his cheeks. 

They break apart, Louis sliding his hand around Harry’s throat and pressing his thumb over the boy’s bobbing Adam’s apple. He is mesmerised by the feeling of it, stroking the small bulge until his fingertip comes to rest on Harry’s pulse point, his breath hitching when he feels the little beat under him. His eyes snap to Harry’s face and smiles bashfully as he notices that Harry has been watching him. He clears his throat, his hand dropping to his stomach, which he sucks in as the other boy bends lower to place a row of quick kisses along his jawline. Harry nibbles last on his favourite spot just below Louis’ own Adam’s apple, causing goosebumps to tingle on his exposed skin. He closes his eyes for a lustful moment, enjoying the way Harry sinks into him, taking in the added weight on his chest and the familiar scent that clings to Harry’s damp skin. 

When Harry resurfaces, there is a question in the shine of his green eyes. Louis grants him permission right away, watching as Harry fiddles around with the button of his trousers and holding back a small laugh as he is reminded of their full moon night.

But he loses all humour when it snaps open eventually and Harry moves to sit between Louis’ parted legs, his eyes asking again if it’s okay. Again, Louis nods, closing his eyes as Harry peels him out of the tight fabric of his jeans, rolling it down his bum until he is left on the mattress dressed in only his underwear, his cock swollen. They both notice at the same time that Louis’ pants are already wet with pre-cum. It’s honestly embarrassing how fast Harry can have an effect on him. One touch and Louis is basically jelly. 

He reddens a bit around his cheekbones, but the heated look Harry sends him makes all his humiliation fade away. Harry licks his lips and sucks another kiss on his neck before he trails down his chest. He takes Louis’ nipple between his teeth with a wet, filthy sound that sends electricity through his body. 

Louis’ back arches as he presses his head more into the cloud-like pillow as Harry’s tongue continues playing around his nipple. It sends every drop of blood directly to his throbbing cock and honestly, if Harry doesn’t do anything about that soon, Louis will fucking die. No joke, the edges around his vision are starting to blur as another hot wave of pleasure engulfs him whole, nearly sending him over the edge there and then because he is needy and apparently has transported back to his teenage years. 

His fingers massage Harry’s curls and he pulls, harsher than before, to warn him that if he keeps doing that thing with his tongue, he is going to come untouched. Harry lets up from him, licking his lips, which are already glistening with spit. His eyes are hooded as he gazes at Louis. It’s too much, and yet it feels like they only began a second ago.

Louis can’t take it anymore. The urge to turn them around and pleasure Harry wars with the need to come right there and then. He struggles until his stubborn mind chimes in, reminding him that they have to go slow, that Harry might not truly be ready, and that Louis has to be careful if he doesn’t want to fuck this up. This is a big deal. Even in his current haze the desire to make it the best experience for Harry overpowers everything else. Louis wets his lips, putting his hand against Harry’s sternum as he leans in to kiss Louis again. 

"My turn, y-yeah?" Louis asks at Harry’s puzzled expression. "Lemme do you first. Please, yes?" 

"I’m not…" Harry swallows. He pauses, looking torn.

Louis waits patiently, combing through his hair.

"O-okay," he nods, admitting with a shaky smile, "I’m nervous, though." 

Louis cradles his cheek. "Don’t be. If you wanna stop, we can. Does that sound alright to you? Just say the word." 

Harry nods hesitantly but doesn’t protest as Louis draws him close, catching his lips in a lazy kiss. He waits until Harry is pliant in his arms before looping an arm around his lower back and scooping Harry onto the mattress, careful not to break their open-mouthed kiss. 

"Okay?" Louis whispers, as Harry blinks his lashes open. Again, he nods. 

Louis kisses his lips once before straddling his lap and moving downward until he is mimicking how Harry was sat before, caged in between the other boy’s thighs. 

He checks every so often on Harry — if it’s okay to roll his bottoms down, if it’s okay to press a soft kiss to Harry’s inner thigh, if it’s okay to undress him until there is no piece of clothing covering any part of him. It’s all okay. Harry nods and nods again, apparently having lost his voice. 

Harry’s cock springs free and slaps wetly against his lower belly. It’s red and wonderful and greedy saliva pools in Louis’ mouth at the sight. By now he is a master of control, he thinks. Before he gives it his full attention, Louis licks a long line up Harry’s inner thigh, his skin soft under the tip of Louis’ tongue. It tastes salty and feels warm when he noses the spot. 

Harry moans brokenly and it might just be the loveliest sound on this earth. He covers his face in the crook in his arm and Louis presses his palm to his own still-clothed cock as Harry bites down on his inner bicep. Louis swallows around nothing and sighs through his nose, feeling his cock pulse under his hand. He shakes himself out of it. Not yet, not yet. 

Louis continues along Harry’s skin, stealing his way upwards with suckled kisses until he reaches Harry’s right hip bone. He circles his tongue before drawing the skin into his mouth, feeling Harry’s legs shake. When he lets up, he rubs his thumb over the wet spot and smirks as he sees a rosy spot bloom on the otherwise creamy skin. He doesn’t think it will last, but instead being discouraged by that thought, he lets it urge him on to plant another love bite next to it. If it comes to it, he will undress Harry every day from now on to mark his lovely hips. He blows a raspberry kiss over his imprinted claim, causing Harry to tense his stomach muscles as he visibly shivers on the bed. His bum is pressed against the bed as if he is worried that he will buck up. Satisfied with his work, Louis noses along Harry’s thin happy trail, his tongue teasing Harry’s belly button. He wants to spend a lot of time exploring every inch of Harry’s divine body further now that he is allowed to do so. 

Harry’s flexes under his kisses, his chest heaving now. It’s quite a sight and Louis inhales what he can see. The way Harry has his teeth sunken into his own flesh, the way his hair pools like a dark sea on the light pillow case, the way his body stretches, long and dainty though Louis can definitely make out muscles under his soft skin.

Apparently Louis is taking too long because someone becomes a bit impatient with him. Just as Louis swirls his tongue around Harry’s left nipple, coaxing more and more of the breathless noises out from Harry’s chest that transform to needled pleasure in Louis’ lower belly and send lust straight to his leaking cock, Harry’s free hand finds its home in Louis’ hair, his fingers clenching in desperation. 

Louis ignores his throbbing dick trapped in his pants, nuzzling his nose in Harry’s pubic hair, breathing in. 

"What do you want me to do?" Louis asks, his voice hoarse. He drops a kiss on Harry’s upper thigh. 

"I think… a hand job?" Harry wrinkles his nose at him, looking so insecure that Louis can’t help but chuckle softly at his expression. 

"I can do that," Louis murmurs, licking his hand while maintaining eye contact until Harry himself breaks it, his lashes fluttering shut as a long groan leaves his parted lips. Louis smirks, wetting his skin more. "Okay?" Louis asks again, examining Harry’s body language for signs of discomfort. 

"Yeah," Harry croaks. 

Louis swallows, then takes Harry into his hand. He’s heavy, rock hard, and leaking, drops of pre-cum rolling from the tip down his shaft and sinking into his soft, dark pubic hair. His mouth waters and his tongue grows curious with the urge to try it, to take Harry into his mouth. But Harry trusts him and asked for a handjob, so he won’t abuse this opportunity like that. 

Louis circles his thumb over the head and is mesmerised as another drop of pre-cum squeezes out the reddened slit, pooling on the side of Louis’ index. Slowly, he blinks himself out of his observational state and starts stroking his fist over Harry’s shaft. He holds it in a teasingly light grip, lubing Harry’s cock until it’s so slick and wet that his fist slides effortlessly. His eyes flicker to Harry then back to his cock as he finds a rhythm, wanting to make sure Harry is comfortable and enjoying himself. 

" _ Please _ ," Harry whimpers and Louis freezes, stopping directly. His eyes snap to Harry, who stares at him intensely in return. " _ Please _ , kiss me," he licks over his lips, propping himself up on his elbow and stretching his hand out in a plea. 

Louis relaxes, his chest sagging. Thank fuck. 

Happy to obey Harry’s wish, he crawls from his spot between his legs to the spot by Harry’s side. Harry draws him closer immediately by his nape and their lips crash in a hot, overwhelming kiss that sparks ecstasy within them both. 

Harry bites down on Louis’ bottom lip harshly as Louis picks up speed moving his hand on his cock, keeping the pattern slow and playful like before. Louis hisses through his teeth at the forceful bite, a roll of overpowering pleasure zipping down his spine. His hand squeezes around Harry’s shaft, causing Harry to moan against his mouth, his breath coming out in shaky pants that Louis adores to death. 

Harry lets up from his lip, closing his eyes as Louis quickens the tempo, leaning downward to nose Harry’s neck. He opens his mouth on his skin, sinking his teeth tenderly into the flesh. Harry gasps, falling onto his back, his body tensing. His dick twitches in Louis’ grip and Louis feels the vein on the underside pulse. 

"I’m… c-close, _ahh_!" he rasps, his call broken by another long moan and gasp for air. 

It spurs Louis on and he presses a close-mouthed kiss to Harry’s jawline before pecking his way up to his lips, sucking on his bottom lip until Harry opens up and their tongues meet halfway. Louis twists his wrist and Harry’s jaw slackens, his hands clenching around the duvet. Louis brushes Harry’s hair off his forehead and Harry swears under his breath as Louis works his hand over his cock in little screwing flicks. 

"I’m…" Harry chokes, arching off the mattress and thrusting his hips upward, fucking himself into Louis’ hand, chasing his own orgasm. Louis watches with hooded eyes as Harry loses control. A row of little whines, moans, and gasps leave his lips, all melting together and sounding heavenly to Louis’ ears.

He represses the urge to touch himself even though it’s hard to do so. Seeing Harry like this is hotter than anything he has ever witnessed in his life. Again, his self-control is proven to be iron as he keeps his hand in Harry’s hair. His gaze bounces from Harry’s face to his cock, not knowing what to watch. 

Harry stops his movements at which point Louis sees his chance and takes it. He thumbs over the head and it seems to do the trick as Harry stills completely. Louis does it again and Harry yelps breathlessly as cum shoots out of his cock, accompanied by broken, hoarse moans. It lands all the way up near his chin, all over his rising and falling chest and sucked-in stomach. Louis moves to his neck, kissing it before finding Harry’s limp, parted lips and pressing a kiss onto them as Harry lays motionless on the mattress. Louis withdraws his hand from Harry’s softening dick and bites his lips as his tongue prickles with the urge to taste it. 

When Harry blinks his eyes open, Louis scoops some cum off his dick and makes sure Harry is watching him as he brings it to his lips, stretching them around his fingertips. Louis can’t hold off a moan as the salty taste mixes with the saliva on his tongue. He swallows, his cock twitching.

Harry stares at him with dark, bloodshot eyes, a dazed glint in them. Louis can sympathise, feeling the very same. 

"C’mere," Harry murmurs, lifting his head.

Louis fulfils his wish gladly, slotting their mouths together. 

They snog for a full minute before Louis withdraws and raises his eyebrows at Harry. "How do you feel, baby?" 

"I’m in heaven," Harry replies with a delicate smile, his dimples on display and his hair a mess on the pillow. His cheeks are red and there is sweat gleaming on his forehead. He looks like an angel.

Louis smiles, massively relieved. 

"Good. Mission accomplished," he nods, coaxing a beautiful, tired laugh out of Harry. 

"Thank you." 

"Nothing to thank me for, love. I’m thankful that you let me touch you,"  _ finally _ , he adds in his mind. 

"Mhmm," Harry hums, his eyes wandering to Louis’ pants. "My turn, huh?" 

“You don’t have to,” Louis says.

Harry snorts, sending him a lopsided smirk. “Yeah right. As if I’d let a chance like this pass by. I’ve been waiting for ages to get my hands back on you.” 

Well… that settles it then, Louis guesses.

Harry sits up slowly, pecking his neck once before navigating Louis on the mattress gently. 

Louis watches, holding his breath as Harry too licks his palm before rolling down Louis’ pants, freeing his cock. It lies on his tummy, red and angry, pulsing now with a force that screams for release. Louis moans quietly as Harry takes it in with a far too intense gaze, making him feel hot all over again. 

He observes in astonishment as Harry goes to sit between the space of his legs, nosing at his inner thigh. Harry bites into the soft flesh of his leg, and Louis’ breath hitches in his throat. Louis, now worked up to the point that one touch would be enough for him to come right there and then, can’t control his body any longer. He thrusts his hips upward with a shuddering hiss as Harry bites into another spot on the sensitive part of his inner thigh, sending little shocks of pleasure straight to his leaking dick. His stomach tenses when Harry  _ finally, finally, finally,  _ wraps his fingers around his shaft and starts moving slowly up and down, his thumb sliding over the sensitive head in a teasing manner. 

Louis swallows, although his mouth has run dry. He shuts his eyes as Harry cups his balls, letting his fingers flick over them as his other hand picks up speed, causing a hot, wet sound to fill Louis’ ears. His fingers clench around the sheets as his legs tense. He is already so close. He can feel an orgasm approaching. 

"Harry, I gonna come if you don’t —" his sentence is broken by a throaty moan that rips through his chest as Harry sucks unexpectedly on the tip of his cock. " _ Ahh… _ ." he gasps, pressing his bum back into the bed so that he doesn’t thrust into the heat of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry lets up from his cock with a popping sound. His hand wanders up to lie on Louis’ stomach until his fingers catch Louis’ hard nipple, twisting it to the point that pain zips through Louis’ heaving chest. Sweat breaks out of his pores as Harry twists his wrist on his cock just perfect, and he can’t hold it back anymore. He slaps blindly at the mattress next to him because his brain is mushy and not functioning to be able to send a warning in the form of proper words. 

Harry seems to understand just fine, though, nosing along his pubic hair, his hand now moving very fast. A shiver runs through Louis’ body as heat engulfs his frame and his lips part in a silent scream. His cock twitches and then all of the built up tension in his spine shoots out of the tip of his dick, splashing onto Louis’ naked stomach and warming his skin. 

For a moment, he can’t see anything but stars behind his closed eyes. His fingers cramp around the blanket, his legs tense, and his feet twitch. A ringing shoots through his ears, blinding his mind. His heart races in his chest. He feels nothing but everlasting pleasure. He might have briefly blacked out. He doesn’t know. 

Slowly but surely, Louis comes back to his senses. He blinks his eyes open just in time to see Harry lick some cum off his finger, his green eyes closed as his sinful lips wrap around the digit, sucking like it’s the best thing he has ever tasted. 

Fuck... 

Louis groans, covering his face with his arms because Harry will be the death of him, looking like that and doing these kinds of things to him and his poor, weak body. 

He hears Harry’s lips smack before the mattress dips low beside him. Louis uncovers his face, tilting his head towards Harry who has his chin propped on his folded hands and a smirk on his lips, looking far too pleased with himself. Louis tugs playfully on a single curl next to his cheek. 

"Hi," he says, his voice is deeper than usual. 

"Hey, yourself," Harry says.

Louis grins but it’s short-lived. "Are you okay, though?" His eyes lower in concern, taking in Harry’s pink face.

"I have never been better, actually," Harry says, his eyes flitting to a point on Louis’ chest. "All that anxiety for nothing. We could have been doing it all this time already." He sighs wistfully, but there is still a shimmer of humour in his eyes as he gazes at Louis. 

Louis shrugs, cradling Harry’s chin. "I don’t care; I’m just happy that you… liked it and you’re okay." 

"Liked it," Harry rolls his eyes, chuckling. "It was the best thing I have ever experienced in my… life so far." 

"That so?" Louis’ lips form into a smirk as smugness purrs in his chest. 

"Hm," Harry hums coyly, batting his dark eyelashes and walking two fingers over Louis’ ribs. 

Louis sighs. "We should towel off," he pouts at the mess on his stomach, scrunching his nose in disgust as he notices that the cum is already starting to dry on his skin, some sticking to his dark hair. His soft cock lays lazily on his thigh. 

"I don’t want to," Harry says. "I like you like this. Looks like I have done something good today." 

Louis chuckles, shaking his head, his eyes sparkling at the unbelievable boy in his bed. "Then get in here, my hero." 

Harry doesn’t have to be told twice. Louis’ heart flutters softly in his chest with warmth and from then on, he feels like he is breathing more love than air. 

* * * 

The sound of his phone brings them out of their happy, safe, and loving bubble. Harry groans into his hair as the ringtone stops and a ding is heard, letting Louis know that whoever had called him left him a message. He pinches his eyes shut, seeking more warmth from Harry. 

"I still don’t get the hype about this thing," Harry murmurs. "it’s annoying." 

Louis chuckles, lifting his head and grinning at Harry. "I keep forgetting that you didn’t grow up with it." 

"I mean it’s fun and stuff, but seriously…" Harry shakes his head as another message comes through, his phone vibrating on the nightstand. Louis stretches and yawns, twisting his body to snatch up his phone. He scratches his hip lazily as his eyes scan the display and a small smile forms on his lips. He shows it to Harry, who takes it from him to read, his eyebrows wandering up his forehead.

Harry glances at Louis and hands him back his mobile. "That was fast." 

"Perrie is awesome," Louis grins, sitting up against the headrest. Niall had informed him that the video is now up and running, which would explain the notifications he has been getting from YouTube letting him know that people have already commented on their new music video. 

With excitement in his chest, he unlocks his phone and taps the YouTube app, ignoring all of the recommendations and pulling up his and Niall’s profile. He holds his breath as he clicks on the music video title:  _ 'Lake of Fire cover - by Kings of Black'.  _ They weren’t very creative when it came to choosing their band name and were very much drunk. They had just looked at one another’s outfits, nodded and went with it, feeling like kings after their first few gigs anyway.

Harry snorts at the band name and Louis elbows him in the ribs. Then he moves the mobile sideways and angles more to the side so that Harry has a good view of the screen. 

Obviously it  _ had _ to start with Louis stumbling over a rock by the river. Rather than putting it in the bloopers, it ended up as the opening. He bets Perrie and Niall had a proper laugh about it. Harry chuckles and Louis pouts. 

They watch Niall and Louis perform, jumping around on the rocks and over the river before they start kicking a ball of fire in between scenes of them singing. Harry comments quietly  _ 'sick' _ under his breath and Louis nods, pleased.

Perrie really is awesome for doing this shit for free. Well, they make sure to get her drunk every Friday night as thanks. She nearly strangled Louis when he tried to give her money after the first time she edited one of their videos. 

The screen lights up with red and white flashlights now as Niall jumps over a rock, much more gracefully than Louis. The camera shakes for a moment, making it seem like Niall had caused an earthquake. 

There is some added footage of Niall playing the guitar in what looks like Perrie’s flat, then the display shows Louis running up to the camera, poking out his tongue at it before smiling at Harry who, well, was holding the camera. 

The sound is clear and wonderful, fitting the crazy atmosphere of the video. It ends with Niall’s cackling, the screen turning to black before flashing their band name and twitter account, telling people to follow and subscribe. It already has three thousand views and around eighty comments which Louis and Harry read through silently. It’s all positive besides a few that tell them they suck, but well, some people just have no taste, right? A smile spreads on Louis’ face. 

"I love it," Harry says. "This is amazing." 

"Eh," Louis bobs his head. "Yeah, it is." 

Harry chuckles. "Why didn’t I know that you guys are called  _ 'Kings of Black'? _ " 

"Because I wanted to keep up the illusion that I’m more creative than that," Louis raises his chin. 

"It’s actually not that bad. It definitely fits this video, but…" Harry grins, "not very much that one video of  _ Wonderwall. _ " 

"We didn’t have that name back then. And," he pouts at Harry, "we can’t all have a great band name like  _ Nirvana _ or  _ The Rolling Stones. _ Besides,  _ Niall and Louis Best Buds _ would sound like shit, c’mon." 

"Hm,  _ Hell Dogs Of Bristol, _ " Harry tries.

Louis snorts.

" _ Bristol Gods _ ."

Louis shakes his head, his smile widening at his ridiculous boyfriend.

" _ Smoking Angels _ ?"

"Okay, I’m starting to like  _ 'Kings of Black' _ now. Thank you," Louis says, kissing Harry’s wounded, drawn out,  _ 'hey _ ,' off his pouty lips.

He’s so bloody cute. Fuck, Louis is so lucky. He can’t resist pecking Harry another time, wanting Harry’s lips back on him. He can still feel the aftermath of their orgasms in his tummy. Louis tries to pull back, but Harry groans, cupping the nape of his neck to keep him right where he is. His mobile falls forgotten on the mattress as Harry sucks on his lips, turning his head and deepening the kiss. Louis' fingers twitch on Harry’s naked stomach and happiness pools in his gut. 

Louis wishes he could have this forever — Harry and him, always. 

* * * 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, hello! well, I really hope you enjoyed chapter 15! thank you so much for reading, and my heart is so so soft for all your lovely comments, reactions and theories it really makes me the happiest, I can't say it enough! :') so, yes, yes, kudos and comments are always, always welcome, haha! 
> 
> love youuuuu, have a great day! x


	16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! x 
> 
> I hope you guys are holding up okay in this crazy, crazy time we live in.
> 
> happy reading and please stay safe, love you! xxx

* * * 

Harry forces him to go downstairs to get something to eat and Louis complies though he still isn’t very hungry. His bones are buzzing with happiness when he joins his mother downstairs and shows her the final product of their video with Perrie’s magical touches. She loves it. Though, that is something a mother has to say, innit? Louis knows she isn’t much into rock, punk, or anything that is loud. She’s now at the age where noises are annoying and so she is mostly into slow ballads (or if she’s feeling a bit more daring, upbeat pop songs). But he’ll take every compliment he can get. After, he marches back up the stairs, to join Harry underneath the covers, his stomach full with tomato soup and a bite of toast because he was unable to bring himself to eat more than that since it tasted funny on his tongue. 

Harry plays a few songs on the guitar and they work on practicing  _ Give Me Love _ by Ed Sheeran together before Louis’ eyelids start to droop. He falls asleep in Harry’s arms. 

Louis wakes up alone, Harry’s bedside empty and cold. Louis checks the clock and notices that he was asleep for only an hour and a half. He guesses that Harry didn’t even go to sleep in the first place and merely waited for Louis to fall into peacefulness. He frowns into the dark, sitting up slowly as he rubs his face and blinks, trying to kickstart his brain. He is just about to slip out of bed to use the bathroom when a movement by the desk makes him startle. His muscles tense and his heart starts pounding in his chest as a shadow moves towards him. 

Realising who it is, Louis’ shoulders relax. He takes Amber in with careful eyes as she steps into the silvery moonlight. 

"Hi," he says, his voice laden with sleep. He clears his throat, his smile shaky and unsure on his lips. Louis feels awkward and too exposed sitting in front of her in only his underwear. He tries to be subtle, sliding the blanket over his lap and crossing his arms over his stomach. 

Obviously, it doesn’t come as a surprise that she doesn’t reply. 

She just stands there, staring at him. Honestly, knowing that she is Harry’s sister doesn’t make her any less creepy. He has watched countless movies with psycho kids running around. Being awake for her visit is… weird, to say the least. Unexpected. What if she has come to kill him? What will he do? 

He glances to the door. It’s closed. Louis wonders how long she has been here and where Harry is off to. 

His gaze snaps back to her. "Have you seen Harry?" 

Amber shakes her head quickly, her green eyes wide. 

Louis frowns. "Why… why are you avoiding him?" he wonders out loud. 

She doesn’t say anything, her green eyes taking in his face before they zip to his cheek. She points at it silently like she pointed at the barn, but there is no smile on her face this time. 

Confused, Louis blinks. He brings his fingers to the spot and feels the unevenness of his skin there, understanding what’s causing concern in the little girl’s eyes. He covers it with his hand. Honestly it’s not that bad anymore, only a little reminder of what happened earlier that day. By now it has been overshadowed by other more important and happier memories.

"Oh," Louis says, "don’t worry. It’s nothing." 

Amber shakes her head, wiggling her finger. Her eyes are fixed on his cheek.

The wheels of Louis’ brain start working, making a connection which he hopes is not true. It weighs down his chest. 

"Because of  _ her _ ?" he asks, pointing at his cheek. "You’re avoiding your brother because of  _ her _ ?" 

For a moment Amber shows no reaction. Then she gives a meagre, shy nod. She averts her eyes to the ground and sways in place, her dress swinging right and left. 

The information sinks into Louis like snow settling over a car’s windshield. It takes a minute for him to understand what this means, recalling their night adventures. 

"Why?" he asks, instead of asking if  _ 'she' _ was the one Amber ran from when she hid in the barn. "Why do you avoid Harry because of her? What has she done to you?" 

She stops her swaying and stares at him intensely, like that will answer all of his questions. It doesn’t. It causes more confusion to bubble to the surface. Louis wishes she would speak and sighs when she stays mute as usual. 

He drags his hand over his face, still bloody tired. He glances at her, knowing she won’t answer his next question either. Still, he dares to try. "Why did you want to show me the barn? Because it’s the place you…?" he trails off, unable to speak the last word because of how fragile and sad Amber looks in the moonlight. Louis’ heart pangs with sadness for her. However, he gets a response this time: a simple nod. Still, it’s something. A start, at best. 

Louis sighs. “Amber, are you… why did you… what…” He rolls his eyes and puffs out his cheeks. His eyes travel to her hands. There is no knife this time, but the memory of her trying to kill him or make him kill Harry pops in his head like a firework. “No knife tonight?” he settles on saying, his voice harsher than he intended. It sounds particularly rough around the edges since he only has spoken in a soft voice to her up to this point. 

Amber shakes her head, curls falling into her pale face. She scratches her right foot over the floor and twists the tip of her shoe into floorboards. She scrunches her nose at him, looking sheepish and so much like Harry that his breath is knocked out of his lungs — how could he not have seen the resemblance before? 

Louis’ lips curl into a tiny smile. “That’s a change.” 

She gives a single shoulder shrug before opening her arms as if to hug someone that’s not there, then points at him again. 

He dips his head to the side, wishing he could read her mind. That would make things so much easier. When she sees that he isn’t following, she repeats the movement. 

“Amber, I have no idea what you’re on about, love.” 

She sighs, or at least it looks like she does, because even that he can’t hear. Then, she holds up her tiny hand, making a peace sign before turning her hand and miming a walking movement with her fingers, while shaking her head and stamping her tiny foot, looking cross. 

Louis blinks. Is she saying what he thinks she is saying? 

“Okay…” Louis muses, pulling on his bottom lip. “You… want… me to leave?”

Was every night adventure a prompt for him to go? To scare him away and leave Harry alone? Honestly, it would make a lot of sense. He was close to thinking that he was going mad. 

Even before he has finished the sentence, she starts shaking her head. 

“No?” 

Again, a shake of head. 

“Okay…”

It’s too late for games. Where is Harry? He must be used to the endless game of charades. 

She repeats the walking movement with her fingers, then shakes her head even more as if to make a point and —

Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

“Ah...” Louis draws the word out, his understanding causing his expression to brighten. “You don’t want me to leave!” 

Her mouth pops open and she nods, once. 

Louis had nearly forgotten what they were actually talking about and the realisation hits him all at once. “You wanted me to  _ kill _ myself so that I wouldn’t leave…?” He guesses. It does make sense, somehow, with her pointing the knife at Harry first, then at Louis. 

She nods again. 

“So that I could stay here with Harry… as a ghost?” He lifts his eyebrows. 

Another nod. 

His shoulders slump and a knot forms in his belly. “Huh, well that’s one way to go about it…” He voices his thoughts out loud. 

Amber shrugs as if to apologise. He can’t find it within himself to be mad at her. With all the deaths that happened during her childhood, it seems like death is more of a familiar friend to her than something to be scared of. Perhaps death was the solution to a lot of problems in this house. Louis doesn’t want to think about that. It’s too late and Harry is still missing. 

“So if you haven’t come to kill me, then what is it?” Louis asks. 

Her gaze moves beyond his shoulder. Louis checks where she is looking, but he sees nothing other than his closet. He frowns. When he turns back around, Amber is taking Harry’s journal off the nightstand and handing it to him. 

"Because of this?" Louis asks, turning it over in his hand. He scratches his temple, his eyebrows furrowing as he blinks at her. 

She shakes her head and opens the journal herself, flicking through it until she reaches the pocket. She takes the pictures out and shows him the polaroid of Harry sitting on the counter, staring with parted lips at the camera lens. Amber taps it three times, right next to her brother’s head. 

Louis’ frown vanishes and his eyebrows lift instead. "Harry?" 

Amber nods, clapping her hands in short-lived joy that their communication is improving. He smiles at her and gets a toothy grin in return. He looks back at the picture, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s shoulder. 

"What about him?" he murmurs.

Amber nods.

He doesn’t understand. He thought that they had just talked about that. "Okay…" Louis whispers, letting the picture fall back into its pocket.

Before he has the chance to close it, Amber takes out another picture. This time it’s the picture of Johnny. She taps his face, too, three quick times. 

“Yeah, Johnny,” Louis muses. “He was with your brother too.” 

She nods, then points at Louis’ cheek again and back to the picture. He purses his lips, the back of his head tingling as yet again understanding forms, though not fully. He has just opened his mouth to ask another question (what does Johnny have to do with it?) but at that moment the door opens. 

Amber’s head snaps around, her body tensing as Harry stops in the doorway. Harry’s eyes widen when he sees his sister, but then — like she has done every time before — with a puff, she disappears.

Harry’s eyes find Louis’, a million questions pasted over his face.

Louis swallows, taking in Harry’s appearance. He is dressed in black skinnies and a black shirt, his usual outfit. It’s what he wore yesterday and what he will probably wear tomorrow. Louis knows it’s the outfit that he died in. He lowers his eyes to the journal. 

"What did she want?" Harry asks, closing the bedroom door and coming to stand where his sister had stood just a second ago. He puts his hands on his hips. 

"Where have you been?" Louis asks instead of answering, stretching to the side to place the journal back in its former place. 

"Nowhere. Don’t worry about it." 

When Louis looks at Harry again, he’s wearing a blank mask, avoiding Louis’ searching eyes as he ruffles through his hair and kicks off his boots against the ground. 

"You went to see  _ her _ ," Louis says, his voice firm. It’s no question; it’s a fact. 

Harry sighs. "I told you I would. Don’t worry about it." 

Louis does though. How could he not? That  _ thing _ turned  _ into _ Harry and hurt him. And as if that wasn’t enough, Amber has essentially confirmed she is scared of it and… what? Stopped reaching out to her brother because of it? Is seeking out Louis instead to… warn him? What does Johnny have to do with it? 

Ugh. Louis doesn’t know what to make of this. A ghost child is reaching out to him because she can’t talk to her ghost brother because another ghost is threatening her. 

Right. 

Louis’ life couldn’t get any more supernatural if he tried.

He twists his bottom lip and doesn’t turn around even though Harry is righting himself on the bed. The sheets rustle behind him, the sound inviting. 

At last, Louis rotates, blinking at Harry. The boy blinks back at him, like everything is fine and he hadn’t just been talking to something that…

Oh. 

Oh shit. 

_ He doesn’t know. _

Harry doesn’t know that his sister is scared of it. Louis releases a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

"What did Amber want then? She didn’t seem very happy to see me though," Harry says, lowering himself on the mattress and bedding the back of his head on his crossed arms. "Twenty-five years and she’s still playing hide and seek. Maybe she hates me because I didn’t act until after she died?" He shoots Louis a sad look. "Or maybe she hates me for what I did? Do you think I scared her in doing so? Does she think that I’m a monster?" His chest heaves as emotions creep into his deep voice, causing it to waver. "I wish I could explain it to her," he whispers brokenly. 

Louis’ throat tightens. He can’t be mad at Harry any longer. He crawls to him, placing his cheek on Harry’s now bare chest and kissing the skin right by his nose. 

"Could you like… ask her for me? Next time you see her?" Harry asks, pulling Louis closer. 

"I can do that." He swallows. If she answers him. Louis doubts that she will. 

"Thank you," Harry whispers into his hair. "Let’s sleep, yeah? It’s been a long day." 

Even as Harry drifts off to sleep, Louis can’t bring himself to close his eyes. He stares into the darkness, wide awake with a racing heart. His gut tells him that Amber didn’t just randomly show up. 

It  was a _warning_. 

But… 

A warning for  _ what?  _

* * * 

"I don’t accept you only eating a bit of soup and calling it a meal, Louis." Jay shakes her head at him, her fingers tapping on the breakfast island. Her face is set in the stern expression that Louis only gets to witness on rare occasions. "You need to eat something." 

"I’m not hungry, though." Louis shrugs, spinning in a circle on the high stool, propelling himself with slaps against the counter. His mind starts to spin and he closes his eyes, dropping his head back and starting to roll it in lazy circles, feeling like a child again. 

Only when he hears his mum sigh in defeat, he stops himself. He smiles at her, though his mind is still turning and his eyes feel as though they are zooming in and zooming out. Her face swims in his vision. He giggles but the humour subsides rather quickly. 

"Okay, I won’t spoon feed you, but I do want you to join us at dinner this evening." She gives him a look to show that she means it and that if he chooses to disobey, she will drag him down the stairs. Then she drops the act with another prolonged sigh. "I’m going to work now. Please finish up the basement, at least."

Louis nods, smiling and blinking at her over-dramatically, but his good-son act drops when she turns and he rolls his eyes back in his head, greeting his brain. 

"I saw that," Jay tuts.

Louis lifts his hands in surrender, murmuring a  _ 'sorry' _ under his breath before waving goodbye. He releases a big exhale as the door shuts behind her and he hears the car engine start. He rolls his eyes again, just because he knows it’d piss her off. 

He slips off the stool and goes into the foyer, glancing upstairs and listening for movement. When he doesn’t hear any, he nods to himself, toeing into his trainers and stepping through the front door into the driveway. 

Last night, Harry was out like a light after their talk about Amber and still was when Louis woke early in the morning. Louis on the other hand had merely gotten an hour of slumber squeezed in before his bladder woke him up around eight. Unable to fall back asleep, he had instead joined his mother for a cuppa in the kitchen. 

Now, his bones are restless and his mind is still filled with too many unanswered questions, reminding him of the time before he had found out that his boyfriend is dead and a ghost. He doesn’t know what to do with himself and hates waiting around for Harry to entertain him, so he figures a run will clear up his head and tire out his body. 

Today he actually wants to wait for Liam to pass by, lingering at the gate and peeking through the gaps of the black painted poles. 

The weather is perfect for a run too. The sky is clouded, so it’s not as unbearably hot as the rest of his stay here has been. He stretches his legs and shakes them out, jumping in place and turning his head from left to right like he has seen professional boxers do. As the sound of footsteps nears him, he walks out to the street. 

Liam is jogging towards him. He looks nearly done with his routine, his body all sweaty. A smile appears on his face when he spots Louis, waving excitedly. 

"Hey mate," Louis greets, falling into step with him. They jog onto the path that leads into the forest and to Zayn’s house. 

"Good morning. I didn’t expect you’d want to join me, otherwise I would have started later." 

"Oh, don’t worry." Louis shakes his head, his chest rising and falling quicker now that they have jogged a few metres. Liam has quickened his steps already. Show-off. "It was a spontaneous idea, actually." Also, which Louis leaves out, Liam is a monster and Louis isn’t ready to die just yet. Their runs at the beginning of their friendship didn’t do him much good, leaving his muscles sore for days as they were unused to a daily sprint through the woods. Liam probably came running out of his mother’s womb. A short mile with Liam by his side works so much better. 

"Ah," Liam nods once, then directs his face forward. 

Louis considers his side profile for a beat. He licks his lips, breathing slowly through his nostrils as his flanks start to sting. He pushes through the pain, remembering why he waited for Liam. 

"Can you tell me a bit more about the house?" Louis pants, his fringe bouncing on his forehead with his rapid steps. 

"I bet you know more about it than I do." Liam frowns at him. "How come? What happened?" 

"Nothing," Louis grunts, his heart racing. Fuck running. "Just curious. I… there… is…" Talking becomes difficult, he falls into a lighter jog before stopping completely, putting his hands on his hips as he gasps for breath. Fuck cigarettes. "Can we just walk for a second?" 

Liam glances at the path ahead, then back at Louis. Looking torn, he shrugs and nods. 

Thank fuck. 

"Do you know if there is… something else in the house?" Louis asks, walking towards Liam, who is of course jogging in place. "Like something that could be a ghost but… maybe isn’t?" 

Liam’s eyebrows spring upward. He stops jogging and joins Louis’ walk, falling into a step next to him with a concerned expression colouring his reddened face. "I don’t know, actually. What do you mean? A spirit?" 

"You can’t see a spirit, right?" 

"No you can’t," 

"Then it isn’t a spirit. Because Harry can see it. I personally haven’t—" Louis stops, considers Liam and sighs. He won’t tell him that whatever it is had turned into Harry and scared the shit out of Louis. "But Harry says he has seen it. It was already there back when his family moved in. Has Zayn ever mentioned anything about that to you?" 

Liam is already shaking his head mid-sentence, wiping the side of his forearm over his forehead. "No idea. I’m sorry, but like," Liam blinks at him with big eyes, "why don’t you ask Zayn? He’s home." 

Louis pulls a grimace.

Liam chuckles. "I see you guys haven’t fixed your issues. He told me you guys had lunch yesterday." 

"He still wants to banish Harry and Co." 

"And Co.," Liam chuckles, amused. 

Louis grins. "Saying,  _ 'ghosts' _ every five seconds gets exhausting after a while. Co. is shorter and I’m lazy." 

"Have you talked to Harry about it?" 

Louis’ eyes widen. "What? No, of course not." And he never, ever will. 

Liam hums. "So you don’t wanna see Zayn?" 

Louis lifts his brows. He only notices when Liam gestures ahead of them that they have already reached the forest house. It still looks much spookier than Jay’s house. "No, I don’t wanna fight again and he won’t shut up about his witchy stuff. But can you do me a favour and ask him for me? But like, don’t tell him I’m the one who wants to know, yeah? Just be… a tad sneaky about it, please? I don’t want to give him even more reason to get them out of the house." Louis gives Liam his most dramatic puppy-like pouting eyes, though knowing Liam, it’s not necessary.

Liam nods right away. "Of course I can do that." 

"Thank you." 

They smile at each other, then Liam waves his goodbye and sprints towards his home. Louis watches from a distance as he unlocks the door and disappears inside. He sighs to himself, taking up jogging again. As he passes the house, there is a movement by the window. Louis hopes it was Liam, pushing his legs on until they burn to bring much-needed distance between him and Zayn. He hopes that Liam will keep his word and come bearing good news tomorrow morning. 

* * * 

Louis tries his luck in another way later in the day. Harry is reading  _ Narnia _ , or… well, has a steady gaze on a page of the book. He doesn’t really look like he is reading because he hasn’t turned the page over in the last five minutes while Louis has been watching him, going over in his mind how best to bring this up and not sound judgemental or negative in any way. 

"Harry," he tries, standing up from his spot on the armchair and ambling over to the bed. 

"What?" Harry asks, his eyes still fixed on the page.

Louis narrows his eyes. "Enjoying the book?" 

"Not really," Harry shrugs. 

"Then what are you doing?" 

"Meditating," Harry deadpans, lowering the book and setting it on his stomach. His expression is calm, so Louis takes that as a go-ahead and takes a seat near the edge of the bed. 

"Can I ask you a question?" 

"Shoot," Harry smiles, catching Louis’ hand in his. 

Louis releases a big breath, his eyes on their fingers instead of on Harry. 

"I was wondering who she is?"

"Who, who is?" Harry murmurs. 

"You know who I mean. C’mon, don’t play dumb." 

Harry grins, starting to hum  _ Dumb  _ by Nirvana under his breath. He erupts into giggles when Louis looks at him dead on, unimpressed. 

"Okay," Harry sighs. "She’s  _ she _ . I don’t know her name. She isn’t very talkative." 

"You said that she talked to you though," Louis frowns, not getting it. 

"She doesn’t talk like we do. She shows you… things. Memories, or whatever she wants you to see." 

"Like dreams?" 

"Hm," Harry bobs his head, "more like visions. Or, you know when you remember a moment in the past? And you can see the picture clearly in front of you? More like that. Like a film."

"So she has shown you her memories," Louis concludes, nodding.

A ghost who can shapeshift, foretell the future, and talk in pictures. Sure. Okay. He is not that surprised anymore. By now, Harry could tell him that she has the power to speak to aliens or animals and he’d believe it. 

"That and other things, like what she is thinking or feeling. What happened to her, and what she thinks about my parents." Harry shrugs, looking at the ceiling. 

"Aren’t you mad at her? For keeping you in place so the police could shoot you?" Louis raises his brows. He squeezes Harry’s hand softly so that the boy knows he is not trying to be mean but wants to understand a bit more about what is going on in this house. 

"I’m mad," Harry says, shortly. "But I get why she did it." 

"Do you?" 

"Yeah," Harry nods at him. "She didn’t want me to leave. The police would have taken me away from here, from her. She didn’t want that to happen. She did it out of love. I’m mad, but lately…" he sighs, blinking at Louis, "I can’t be anymore because otherwise I wouldn’t have had the chance to get to know you. And, for your information, I’m rather fond of you." He smiles, his dimples showing. 

Louis returns the smile slowly. His reply is trapped by a knot in his throat because he can’t possibly take that away from Harry. Telling him that a person doesn’t kill out of love wouldn’t do any good. But what he can do is:

"Would you kill me?" Louis asks. 

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. 

"I mean… forget it," Louis rolls his eyes at himself, because seriously, he shouldn’t have said that in the first place. He untangles their fingers, turning his back on Harry and propping the sharp points of his elbows on either of his thighs, holding his head between his hands as he stares at the ground.

"Where is this coming from?" Harry asks.

Louis doesn’t look up though he hears Harry moving behind him, feels heat on his spine and Harry’s breath on his exposed neck. "I’m just wondering about her, is all." Louis speaks to his bare feet, tired from his run, not knowing how to fix this.

"I wouldn’t kill you. Killing is wrong," Harry says. "I’m not saying that what she has done to me is okay. I’m saying she didn’t know any better and was desperate. She loves me. She acted out of her feelings. She isn’t like you and me. I told you, she’s impulsive." 

Louis blinks, then twists his upper body to face Harry, who has apparently been talking to Louis’ back. Blue meets green and Louis’ heart softens. It’s not Harry’s fault. Of course that thing would love Harry so much that it killed him. It’s only logical right? It’s not, but Harry has to bear the burden now and perhaps talking fondly of her is just his way of trying to fix it in his mind, turn it into something that it isn’t reality so that having her around is a bit easier. Whatever the reason Harry is defending her, Louis lets that part of the conversation go. 

"What is she then?" Louis asks. 

Harry considers him silently. Something in the green of his eyes tells Louis that he knows, but then Harry shakes his head and shrugs, muttering a  _ 'don’t know'  _ which Louis guesses is a fucking lie.

His shoulders hunch in disappointment. 

"Don’t worry about her. I talked to her last night, remember? I think she understood what I was trying to say this time around." 

"This time around?" Louis blinks out of his thoughts of what would happen if Zayn actually came and tried to play ‘hero’. 

"Yeah, I told her off the other night as well. I still think she’s just curious about you and doesn’t know how to… get to know you better. Like I said, she’s different from us." 

This is probably all Louis will hear about her ever. Harry is protecting her. Louis knows that. Perhaps his childhood memories about her are still too strong for him to see clearly.

Louis simply sighs, not wanting to fight, and they cuddle together on the bed for an hour until Louis remembers he is meant to clean the basement. Fortunately, Harry offers to help which makes the whole scenario much more bearable. 

* * *

The week flies by.

Jay makes Louis eat dinner every night, though his appetite still hasn’t come back. He makes sure to tell her that all throughout every dinner, but it doesn’t matter. He has to eat at least one plate of food before he can be excused to leave and — oh, how lucky he is — to be able to skip breakfast and on some days lunch. Louis still hasn’t figured it out, but food tastes weird and sits heavy in his stomach until late at night. It’s as if he has been eating rocks rather than chicken, beans, or pasta. When he voices this to Harry, he doesn’t have an answer either. That makes sense though, since he hasn’t had a meal in twenty-five years and has forgotten what it even feels like to be hungry. 

Louis goes for a run each morning. He waits by the gate for Liam to jog by, but he never does. It worries Louis, adding to the knot of tangled questions in his gut. When he walks past their house, he always thinks he sees a movement in the window, but it’s too fast for him to make out more than a blurred silhouette. He wonders why Liam, of all people, is avoiding him. Perhaps this is Zayn’s doing. That thought sets Louis’ veins on fire with hot anger.

It bothers him. First Zayn wants to get rid of Harry, and now he is making sure Louis doesn’t get an answer from anyone but him. It doesn’t help that Harry is now avoiding the topic of  _ 'her'  _ too, shutting Louis up with a kiss whenever he brings it up.

It’s all rather irritating and eating away at his nerves. Somehow, it feels like everyone is in on the joke and having a laugh behind his back as he tries to play Sherlock Holmes and figure it out by himself. This doesn’t work, of course. He doesn’t find any new hints in the basement, which he had cleaned with Harry, nor does he find any interesting clues in Harry’s journal. The poems all scream misery and pain, but don't let Louis in further. 

There are some sentences scribbled about her, but nothing more than what he already knows:  _ 'She came to me, held me close, talked to me, made me feel better; I think I love her more than I could ever love my own mother; she understands my pain' _ . 

Louis would be happy that Harry had someone he could go to when everything was a bit too much for him as a child and teenager, but he just wishes it wasn’t someone who seems sinister and frightens even Amber. Which opens another question: why didn’t  _ 'she' _ do the same for Amber? Why scare her, but not Harry? Is it because he was born first? 

From what Harry has told him, Amber wasn’t a normal child either. Louis guesses this comes with growing up in a sadistic cult, but still… something is off about the whole thing. Louis can’t sleep at night and when he does, he suffers from terrible nightmares. 

They aren’t his usual night wandering nightmares. No, they are different. Worse. At least back then he knew what was going to happen, he knew that Amber would lead him to the barn. Now, his nightmares are proper nightmares that leave him waking up gasping for air, drenched in sweat from head to toe, his hair damp on his forehead, and Harry stroking his arm and back. 

_ Fire _ . 

Louis dreams of fire. He is burning alive, tied to a wooden post, surrounded by orange flames that lick at his flesh. It hurts and the smoke clings to the walls of his lungs as he screams and  _ screams _ , begging for help. Sometimes he can make out figures through the dancing flames, but it’s too dark and bright at the same time. The pain is unbearable, pumping through his body and burning not only from the outside but from the inside too until he becomes engulfed in flames and — the dream ends at that moment, when everything turns black and he knows he has died. 

He had googled what it meant to die in dreams and the website he found stated a chapter of one’s life is ending or change is to come. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. 

When he isn’t being forced to eat dinner with his family or going on a run hoping to catch Liam, he is cuddled on Harry’s chest in bed. They switch between playing guitar, singing, watching movies, and talking about everything and nothing, just like before. However, something new has happened since they gave each other handjobs. Harry is more trusting of Louis with his body, allowing him to explore more of his skin on lazy days — which is every day — and is more often nude on his bed than clothed. Louis doesn’t mind that one bit. They stick to giving each other handjobs though. Harry is more comfortable now, but still not open to having sex or letting Louis suck him off. But they are working on it, which brings a smile to Louis’ lips until he remembers that he only has a short time left until he is forced to leave and go back to Bristol. 

The thought of going home doesn’t feel like going home any longer. Louis’ heart belongs to Harry. He gave it to him freely and now with each beat it pumps so much love through his veins that it hurts to think about what will happen when he packs his shit, loads his car, and drives away. Just thinking about it makes his stomach turn. He wonders if he will survive. 

Home is no longer a place for him. It’s a person. Louis had never thought it was possible to feel so much for another human being.

Everything feels more intense. The way Harry touches him raises goosebumps on his skin. When Harry laughs, it brightens Louis’ mood even if he was cranky only a few minutes prior. Louis’ orgasms are… something else. He has never experienced anything like it. For a moment, when he is pushed over the edge, everything goes mute and he sinks into the feeling — no, he fucking  _ crashes _ into the feeling — of release, waking up in a bubble of warmth, happiness, and love. Harry’s touch — not to sound proper cheesy — is magical. Louis can’t find another word for it. It’s nothing compared to any other sex he has ever had. When he voices this to Harry jokingly, Harry shrugs, lifts his brows, and says,  _ 'perhaps, it’s because I’m a ghost, dunno…' _ and huh, perhaps it is because Harry is a ghost.

Currently it’s Friday, which means tomorrow is Saturday, which means tomorrow is the full moon. Harry has been secretive about their plans all week, a giddy, boyish expression coming to his face every time Louis tries to coax information out of him. 

Louis’ own excitement comes to a halt when his mother declares that she wants to spend Saturday with him because Matt will be helping his friend who is getting a divorce move out of his house. Matt will be staying with his friend for the entire weekend because it’s too far of a drive to go both there and back. When Louis protests about this, saying that he and Harry have already made plans, she points out that Harry and Louis have been spending so much time together that she only got to have him alone a handful of times and that was mostly only when he didn’t feel well. She, of course, is right, and her guilt trip works on him like a magic spell. 

Harry isn’t too sad about it, though. He merely kisses Louis’ forehead and tells him that he should spend more time with his mother and when they are done doing whatever Jay has planned, they will meet up afterward. Apparently whatever Harry has planned works better in the dark anyway. Louis is still not too pleased with the change of his Saturday plans, but he can’t do more than agree since Harry has sided with his mother on the matter. 

That’s something that has changed, too. Some days when Louis returns from his jog, he finds Harry drinking tea with his mother or playing cards with her or watching a movie. She is home a lot since she only has to work three days a week in the morning and two days a week in the afternoon. It’s nice, coming back to find his love chatting easily with his mum. Every time she laughs at one of Harry’s lame-as-fuck jokes, Louis guesses that he has her approval and that she might love Harry just as much as he does. No, well, not as much, but… getting there. Especially since Jay hadn’t really liked his ex, this is a nice change.

Jay even goes as far as to invite Harry to their son-and-mother night, but to Louis’ surprise, Harry says that he can’t because he has to 'prepare' something. If he wants Louis to die of curiosity, well, he might succeed. He keeps hinting at it, throwing a wink Louis' way in such a cheeky manner that it makes Louis' heart tumble right out of his chest. 

When Louis wakes up on Saturday, he shakes all of the nightmares out of his pounding head and grins despite it all at Harry, who is still out like a light next to him on the mattress. Louis kisses Harry’s bicep before slipping out of bed and going to the bathroom to do his morning routine.

He stretches and twists his body in front of the mirror, then brushes his teeth. He takes his time, hoping that Harry will be awake by the time he is done to spill whatever he has in mind for their evening and night. 

Louis’ heart flutters wildly at the reminder that yes, it is indeed Saturday  _ all day and all night long _ and a full moon is approaching. 

Spitting foam into the sink, he rinses his mouth, enjoying the minty taste on his tongue. Then he hops into the shower because he has been sweating like a pig at night. Flashes of fire still linger in his mind, along with the smell of burning flesh. He takes his time in the shower, too, but when he goes back into his bedroom, Harry is still sleeping. Louis pouts. 

A run it is then, he thinks to himself. Going to his closet, he picks out loose joggers and a white shirt. After putting them on, he checks on Harry again — yep, sleeping like the dead — and puts in his earbuds, blasting music. The sound helps to drown out his thoughts of glowing, orange flames. Louis jogs down the stairs as warm-up and waves to his mother before exiting the house, taking a deep breath of fresh air. 

It is kind of warm, yet kind of cold outside. It’s just right for a run. A gust of wind ruffles his hair as he makes his way to the gate, stretching and shaking out his legs until he gets to it. Next, he does the whole  _ 'I’m a boxer' _ jumping routine before he feels good to go. Louis falls into a light jog. This time, he pointedly ignores Zayn’s house as he passes. He might have seen the door open out of the corner of his eyes but he simply speeds up his steps and leaves it behind him. 

He is exhausted by the time he sees the gate of his house. The last few steps feel like hell, his muscles burning as his chest rises and falls with hectic, dog-like pants. Louis might collapse at any second now. Perhaps Liam was never the problem, and it’s just that his body really doesn’t like exercising and lets him know this in the most painful way possible. He is covered in sweat and reeking, his morning shower now a complete waste of time. 

"Water," he gasps, putting his hands on his ribs, his heart rate skyrocketing. The edges of his vision blur as he walks up the stairs to the house. He has to take another moment of standing and breathing before he can open the door. Fortunately, he left it unlocked because he always found how the weight of his keys in his pocket would make his joggers slide down his hips to be so fucking annoying, especially on top of moving his body and all. 

He comes to an abrupt stop in the doorway. 

"Hi darling," his mother says over her shoulder, smiling at him mirthfully.

Louis’ eyes dart to the other person next to his mother. Harry smirks at him, a bowl in his hands. 

Well, he has come home to them playing cards or drinking tea before, sure. But seeing them bake together is… something else. He looks back at the closed door behind him, then at the kitchen. Did… did he pass out in the driveway? Is this a dream? If so, at least it’s a nice dream this time around.

Louis rubs the back of his hand against his eyelids and blinks. Nope, this is real. Harry is helping his mother bake. Okay. 

Louis’ lips are slow to smile. They tremble from exhaustion, sweat pooling on his upper lip. 

"What are you guys making?" he asks, his voice breathless. 

"It’s a surprise," Jay chirps, sharing an amused, secretive look with Harry. 

"No," Louis rolls his eyes, "don’t tell me that you guys keep secrets from me now." He shakes his head. 

"Aw, darling, don’t be jealous. Now, now…" Jay tuts, and turns her back on him, swirling a wooden spoon around the bowl Harry is holding. 

"Go shower. I can smell you from where I’m standing," Harry says. 

Louis wants to throw back,  _ 'only if you join me' _ at him but in that moment he catches his mother’s eyes. He snaps his mouth shut, realising it wouldn’t be a good idea. So he releases a breath through his nostrils, watches them work for another beat, then turns and huffs his way up the stairs. He goes directly to the bathroom and, like always, leaves the bloody door ajar, still wary of the room. 

The lightbulb flickers as he turns on the tap, like it’s mocking him, having a laugh at his fear of being locked in the dark another time. Louis ignores it, stepping under the freezing stream which does the trick to cool his skin in no time. He scrubs at his skin until it feels raw and sensitive, using too much body wash and shampooing his hair with harsh fingers, wanting to get all of the sweat rinsed out so he can forget that he ever went on that run. His legs are still shaking. If Zayn is right about one thing, it’s that running sucks. Sports in general suck. Louis is starting to share Zayn’s hatred.

When he is done with his second shower of the day, Louis towels himself off. Leaving his hair to air dry, he wraps his towel around his hips. He was just about to stalk to his bedroom when suddenly, he stops his movements. Slowly, he turns to the steamed up mirror, staring at it. 

He blinks, taking a shaky step forward. There, on the mirror, written in the steamy layer of fog in bold letters:  _ TONIGHT _ . He rolls his eyes at himself and releases a short breath. 

Harry is being pretty dramatic about the entire thing, huh? 

Louis chuckles, wondering how he didn’t notice Harry sneaking into the bathroom at all. He had thought he was getting pretty skilled at telling whether Harry is in the room with him or not lately.

Dressed and feeling a bit better, though still tired from his run and his nightmares, Louis joins Harry and Jay in the kitchen. He watches them work from his spot behind the breakfast island, a strong cup of coffee under his nose. It does the trick to give him a bit of an energy kick. 

Harry had never told him that he is good in the kitchen. The topic never really came up. Louis had just assumed that Harry sucked at preparing food like himself, but seeing him skilfully mixing ingredients together without having to check twice if he’s using the right one makes Louis’ eyebrows creep upward, impressed. 

He mostly keeps quiet, not wanting to bother the superb bakers at work. As a reward, he is allowed to lick the spoon, the texture of the dough sweet on his tongue and sticking to his gums. When Jay isn’t looking, he makes a bit of a show of licking it, maintaining eye contact with Harry. Harry stares back at him and once even drops his wooden spoon, causing Jay to startle and thus putting a stop on their fun. Louis winks at Harry, and Harry blushes a wonderful beet red. When Jay asks if Harry is feeling well, noticing that his cheeks are heated and his eyes are off, he weakly replies with the lie that it's because of the warm oven and nothing more. Nothing more...  _ uh huh, sure, Harry _ . 

When she glances at Louis in confusion, he smiles extra innocently. The moment she turns to check something on the stove, Louis smirks at Harry again. He slides his hand down the spoon, his finger toying with the tip.

Harry doesn’t dare look at him for the rest of the baking session.

It’s fun. Louis is enjoying himself, very much so. 

When they are done, they clean up the kitchen. Louis is forced to help sweep the floor because Jay had spilled some flour. However, the wonderful smell in the kitchen allows him to forget all about having to move his sore body. It reminds him of Christmas and makes his mouth water, even though his stomach is still… not functioning properly. 

Afterward, Jay joins them out on the terrace, each of them with a glass of pineapple juice. Louis sucks on a cigarette, making sure the smoke isn’t directed at his mum. Harry is tucked under his arm, his head resting on Louis’ shoulder. He can see happiness in his mum’s eyes. When she realises that he has caught her staring at them, she hides her smile with a sip of juice and looks out to the garden. After a moment, she makes a bit of chit chat with Harry, asking him how he learned to bake. Since Louis is interested in that too, he raises his brows in question at his boy. 

Harry explains that he learned to cook and bake at the  _ 'hostel,' _ which means that someone in the cult taught him. Later, when they are alone, Harry gives a different explanation, telling Louis that he had to take over the cooking and baking for his family. Another girl had taught him, because her family had a bakery and her father used to be a chef in a good restaurant. He had gotten fired when his alcohol addiction got out of hand, and that was partly what led her to pack her things and find Harry’s family. 

She was harsh, used to stern talk in the kitchen. Although she was only two years older than Harry himself, she seemed aged, scolding Harry when he tried to joke around with her. But still, Harry thought it was nice to learn something new rather than moping in his room. He didn’t always cook for the family, but did on most days. He didn’t mind that part of his teenage years, finding a bit of joy in his day when creating something tasty. At one point, when he wasn’t allowed at the table any longer, he was at least able to steal some pastries that he had made. Otherwise, his parents wouldn’t even let him eat his own creations. There it is again, Louis thinks. Everything Harry shares from his past turns from soft to sad in the span of two sentences. 

The rest of the morning is spent happily, with Harry and Louis playing around with the guitar, singing bits and pieces of their songs for each other. It’s a lovely atmosphere, bittersweet, really. 

When afternoon comes around, Louis kisses Harry goodbye and they part until eleven tonight. Honestly, Louis can’t wait. He wishes time would pass now as quickly as it has been all week, but to his dismay, it creeps slowly with each hour feeling like two. 

His mother is again in the kitchen. Louis wonders if she has always enjoyed cooking this much or if it’s something that she picked up on after moving into this house. Either way, she works on the stove, music floating around her. Like he has done before, he sits on the high stool and watches her cook in silence. 

Tonight is pasta night, she tells him, and his stomach turns inward. He tries to keep a straight face and not let her know that he isn’t hungry again. He can already assume what she would have to say to that and therefore zips his mouth shut.

When they eat, he smiles at her around a mouthful of food, telling her how good it tastes though in reality all of the herbs are lost on him. His tongue is fuzzy and his stomach feels like he has been swallowing rocks instead of Italian pasta with homemade tomato sauce. 

Once they are done, they plant themselves on the couch with the fresh baked biscuits — his favourite, chocolate chip biscuits, but with a bit of a minty taste. Like the pasta, it leaves his taste buds sadly unimpressed. He knows in that moment, as he swallows a piece of biscuit down his throat, that something isn’t right. These are his  _ favourites, _ the ones that made him go  _ crazy _ as a child when he would come home from playing in the snow with Lottie to the smell of these very biscuits baking in the oven. He would beg his mother for one,  _ just one _ , the moment they were done and she would give in, of course, handing him one and telling him “just one” because they were for later when everyone — his grandma, Lottie, Jay, Louis himself — had joined them in the living room for tea. 

Louis blinks at his half-eaten biscuit now and frowns a bit, a few crumbs tumbling from his lip onto the blanket that is covering the lower part of his body. 

"Don’t you like them?" Jay asks, surprise clear as day in her voice. 

He is quick to shoot her a smile. "No, I love 'em. They’re great," he lies.  _ Eh, _ in theory he knows they are fantastic, so it’s not a complete lie, innit? "Thank you for making them with Harry." Well, at least that part is one hundred percent true. It makes his heart melt in his chest, happy that his boyfriend and his mother get along so amazingly well. It’s like Harry has everyone in Louis' life wrapped around his finger. He is very sure Lottie will love him too. This thought brings another smile to his lips, easier this time, which in turn smoothes Jay’s worry wrinkles. 

"What do you want to watch?" she asks, turning the television on. 

"How about…" Louis hums, rubbing his chin.

He eats the other half of his biscuit because putting it back on the plate isn’t an option, chewing rather quickly. It’s sweet but mixed with another… kind of taste that is unpleasant, like… something foul, burned. But his mother doesn’t seem to find anything wrong with the biscuits, munching away, taking her second as she waits for his reply.

Louis blinks. "I don’t care. Just no rom-coms." 

They decide on watching  _ 'Hangover'  _ which works on both sides. Louis has seen it countless times and loves it. His mum hasn’t watched it yet, though he and Lottie have nagged to for years. 

It has them both laughing and chuckling along to three friends’ journey of finding their lost friend in Las Vegas. It’s great, honestly. Louis' shoulder is pressed against Jay’s and here and there, he feels her warm eyes on him. When he looks, she smiles and he can’t say anything but that he missed spending time like this with his mother.

They always have been close and movie nights have always been their thing, from horror movies and thrillers to  _ Gossip Girl  _ when Lottie would join them. Louis and his sister had even convinced Jay to give  _ Harry Potter _ a try and at last she gave in. The books still gave her a bit of trouble, but the movies definitely didn’t. They had watched from the first movie up to the last all together below the blankets, eating crisps and drinking beer. Well, Louis had been drinking beer. Jay and Lottie stuck to some sweet cocktail that they called  _ 'Jottie La Lay' _ — their names combined since it was their cocktail.

Neither of them is drinking alcohol right now since, well, Jay is pregnant — which Louis still thinks is surreal — and Louis wants to stay awake and sharp until he meets Harry. 

_ Harry _ . 

Louis smiles. His eyes are on the screen, but his mind is far away. 

The movie ends and the end credits roll, causing Louis and Jay to chuckle at the pictures, which is one of the best parts. Louis feels bad for everyone who doesn’t stick around for them. They make a bit of chit chat, Jay asking about Harry. Louis answers a bit half-heartedly at his point because the clock tells him it’s time to go in ten minutes and his bones turn to buzzing energy, his leg jiggling. Jay sighs, stroking through his hair, and smiles. 

"Go to see your boy," she says, easily. "We’ll have some time together before Matt comes back tomorrow night." 

Louis returns her smile. He only feels a tiny bit guilty when he gets off the couch. 

"Take the biscuits with you. Maybe Harry would like some," she calls after him. 

Louis is already in the foyer, ready to dash up the stairs. He catches himself at the railing, coming to a shaky stop before turning and striding back to the living room and taking the plate of biscuits that Jay holds out to him. He gives her another smile — he just can’t stop smiling now, his cheeks stretching on their own — and goes to put the plate in the kitchen. He will get ready first then come back for the sweets. 

Upstairs, the hallway is empty and dark. Louis doesn’t turn on a light, but stops by his door. He frowns at the end of the corridor, thinking that he heard a noise. Then again, he guesses that all of the ghosts are out tonight, having a blast at the pub since it’s their one night a month to leave this place. So he shakes himself out of it, pushing the door to his room open and getting dressed quickly. He slips on a bit of a better shirt, the fabric soft and loose over his torso. He ignores the fact that he fucking knows that this particular shirt used to stretch over his tummy back in Bristol and sticks his legs into black skinnies. He also puts on a green denim jacket because it might be summer, but the nights are already turning too cold to sit outside for long without one. He slides his arms into the sleeves and rolls them up to his elbows. 

Another noise makes him blink at the closed door. This one was louder than before, like something fell on the ground. 

What in God's name is his mother doing? 

Then, the light in his bedroom starts flickering. Louis’ chest tightens with nerves as his surroundings are bathed in darkness a moment later, the only source of light coming from the low moonshine through the window. His hands start to shake, the memory of being paranoid in the bathroom fresh in his mind. He goes to the light switch and slaps it, but the light stays out. Louis frowns. 

He opens the bedroom door and pokes his head outside. He takes a deep breath to call for his mother, but then a movement out of the corner of his eye makes him snap his mouth shut. He turns his head in that direction. 

His body freezes, his eyes squinting at a shadow by the window at the end of the hallway. Then, it moves.

Louis inhales sharply. 

Something is hunched on the ground on all fours. Louis blindly slaps for the light switch on the wall and as the lights flicker on, he finds himself wishing they hadn’t. 

What he sees makes his stomach roll in nausea and fear. He can’t move, still standing in the hallway, his eyes fixed on…

It looks human, yet the way it moves, its fingers spread widely over the floor, its legs squatted down and its head…

Louis gulps. 

It’s a woman — or, well something that closely resembles a woman. Wide, huge eyes, pale skin and a mouth that is carved, a grin forever etched into its face, its lips stretched unnaturally large. Its black, greasy hair falls over its shoulders to the ground. 

Its terrifying eyes are fixated on him, and through its smiling lips comes a rattling breath that is loud in the otherwise quiet hallway.

They stare at each other for another long moment.

Louis’ heart sits in his throat. He is scared that if he moves, it will attack. And yet, standing there doesn’t feel much safer. His mind races, as does his pulse. 

He makes the decision in about a second, pushing himself forward and down the hallway away from that thing. When he checks over his shoulder, he sees it following him slowly, moving like a monkey on all fours. Then, suddenly it speeds up, pushing itself faster with its fists and the heels of its bare feet. The sound of it running startles him into a run himself. 

Louis knows he won’t make it if he takes the stairs down. He can feel the coldness of its rattling breath. So instead, he opens the first door that happens to be his parent’s bedroom. He spins around, slamming the door shut, right in its grinning face. It bangs against the door with a thud. 

A whimper rips through Louis’ throat as tears of fear spring into his eyes. He can hear it scratching at the door, the sound terrifying and haunting. 

Wildly, Louis looks around, his neck nearly breaking as he moves his head side to side in search of a hiding spot. The scratching spurs him on and at last he hides behind a drawer, squatting and pressing his back against the wall. Everything is quiet for a second, the scratching has stopped, but before Louis has any mind to feel relieved, something bangs against the door. Louis flinches at the sound. It happens again, and the fine hair in Louis’ neck stands up. It’s quiet. Then, the door opens, slowly, letting a beam of lightning stream into the otherwise dark bedroom. Louis presses his palms over his mouth and stops breathing. He stares at the bed, not daring to move a muscle. 

The rattling sound is still by the doorway. It creeps closer. If it goes any further, it will see him. Louis shuts his eyes tightly. 

_ Please, please, please, no. Dear God, if you’re out there —  _

He hears it sniff like a dog trying to find its prey. Louis is sure it must be able to hear his heart which is pounding loudly in his chest. White noise presses at his ears and his thighs start burning from the position he is hiding in. Unable to take it anymore, Louis opens his eyes and checks to the side, careful not to make a sound or move too much. He immediately wishes he hadn’t. Shock stabs at his heart and he nearly passes out. 

It’s sitting crunched by the bed, its hands wrapped around the foot of it and its wide eyes staring directly at him. A rattling breath leaves its parted grinning lips and Louis swallows, finally finding out why it’s fucking rattling. Where the sides of its lips are cut, making its mouth wide and nearly reaching its ears, the cuts are badly stitched with thick, dirty looking cords. The part that isn’t sewn together reveals a row of sharp teeth, still grinning at him insanely. 

Louis doesn’t know what to do.

It’s not moving. It’s waiting, watching. 

Louis swallows, his mouth dry as a dessert. 

It takes a tiny step towards him. Louis holds a breath of air inside his lungs, his legs and arms shaking badly now. It looks like a snake, a snake waiting for him to make the wrong move so it can attack and wind its body around him, squeezing the life out of him.

"Louis?" his mother calls.

_ No, no, no, no  _ —

"Louis? Didn’t you want to go?" 

Louis’ heart clenches with pain and fear and… fuck,  _ no _ , he hears her coming up the stairs.

The thing is still staring at him. Louis stares right back. His body frozen, his voice lost in a pool of panic. 

"I’m sure Harry is waiting for you!" Jay’s voice is teasing. 

The thing looks over its shoulder, then back at Louis. It grins at him, even wider than before and Louis knows what it must have in mind.

It turns and Louis jumps up.

" _ Mum! _ " he screams at the top of his lungs. " _ Mum! Run! Run! _ "

Without thinking, Louis throws himself on its back, looping his arms around its neck to hold it from getting to his mother.

"What are you on about? Where are you?"

Through the ajar door, Louis sees her walking towards his room. 

" _ Run _ !" Louis screams again.  _ Please, please, please, please, run, run, run, run.  _

The thing shakes itself, and Louis hangs onto it, clinging to its meagre body. 

Louis draws in a hissed breath as it scratches at his arms, nearly causing him to let up from it. The pain is gut-ripping as it digs its long nails into his skin, cutting into his flesh. He screams, nearly fainting out of utter agony. His dinner is pushed up his throat and he feels dizzy as it clings to his arms. Still, he somehow ignores the impulse to let go of it. 

He grits his teeth as cold sweat pools on his neck and at his hairline. 

Jay’s footsteps follow his voice, and then she screams. He can barely see her, his vision blurring as his arm is ripped apart. His mother’s horrified screams ring in his ears. 

The thing lets up from his arms and shakes him off without trouble. He falls face first onto the ground and stays there, unable to do anything but watch in horror as it moves towards the door. He tries to catch one of its feet, but it’s too fast and his fingers curl around air. 

It grins at him wickedly and then suddenly, it’s  _ gone _ . 

_ Puff _ . 

It disappeared right in front of his eyes. 

Jay falls on her knees next to him. 

"Are you okay? Are you okay?" she asks, frantic. She recoils as she spots the blood on his arm. "Oh my god!" she gasps. "We need to get you to a hospital." 

"Mum —" he tries to warn her, his mind going fuzzy as the pulsing pain spreads over his arm. But his words don’t leave his lips. Instead, he clambers awkwardly to his knees then to his feet, Jay helping him up and steadying him with an arm around his shoulder. "We… we —"

"What was that Louis? Who… was that?" Jay asks, her voice shrill in his ears.

He grits his teeth. "We need to get out of here," he says, "now." 

It’s too late. Louis realises it as they are halfway down the stairs. He hears it before he lays eyes on it, the rattling breath blowing on his neck. When he checks behind them, he nearly pushes his mother down the stairs in his haste to shield her from it. It’s close, its face nose to nose with him as he looks over his shoulder. 

His mother trips but catches herself. Louis turns back around, running after her. She rips open the door, searching for safety outside and Louis is hot on her heels. 

"To the car!" Louis screams, realising with shock that neither of them have keys. He falters but catches himself. "To the gate!" 

Louis has managed to bring distance between it and himself, but as he checks over his shoulder, it has vanished yet another time. His chest heaves in relief but when he looks ahead, to where his mother is opening the gate, he stops in his tracks, frozen.

It’s sitting on all fours in front of him, big eyes staring, ripped open lips grinning maniacally at him. 

"Louis!" his mother gasps. He can’t look at her.

"Run!" he urges again, his voice falling flat as panic ties around his neck like a rope. He can’t breathe. 

There is no use running from it. It can follow them anywhere tonight, not bound to the house. Plus apparently it can teleport. It’s having its fun with Louis, that is the only reason why it’s not on him currently.

A million and one thoughts race through his head, but none of them are useful. He swallows drily, his breath coming now in puffs and pants, his heart racing, nearly collapsing. His vision blurs. He doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t dare to move an inch.

It creeps forward, slowly, its unblinking stare fixed on Louis, its grin spreading wider. 

_ TONIGHT.  _

The image of his bathroom mirror flashes through his mind. 

_ No _ . 

Harry… it was Harry who wrote that.  _ Right? _

A high pitched laugh rings in his head and he groans. He presses his hands against his ears, but it doesn’t do anything to keep out the hair-raising sound. After a moment the noise subsides and only a buzzed ringing is left behind, the kind of sound you hear after leaving a loud concert or nightclub. 

_ "You," _ a high pitched voice titters in his mind.  _ "You, you, you, you, you, you…"  _

The thing cocks its head to one side, creeping even closer. Louis still can’t move. His mother might be calling for him, but he can’t look, can’t do anything. He has tunnel vision, everything else out of focus. 

It cocks its head to the other side, staring at him. 

_ "You," _ it says again inside his head. It must be, the voice so clear, so high. It’s like nothing Louis has ever heard before.

Louis clenches his eyes shut. His mind is burning, his head hot. He doesn’t know what’s going on. Then something is screaming inside of his head and Louis’ knees turn to jelly. He falls to the ground, holding the sides of his head. 

He is burning alive. 

_ "You, you, you," _ the voice says again, sickly excited and giddy. The words vibrate in his mind, setting it aflame further,  _ "you are perfect, perfect!"  _

He groans as his body starts shaking uncontrollably.

_ "You, you, you!"  _

He wants it to stop. 

He has no idea what it means. He can’t think. His mind is on fire, and he can’t feel his body. He blinks his eyes open at last. It takes up all of his energy to do so, his lashes fluttering weakly at the thing that is now sitting directly next to him. Its long slender finger raises then lowers.

_ "Waited for so long, waited for so long, waited for so long —" _ it chants,  _ "you, you, you." _

Then it stops, the tip of its finger hovering directly over Louis’ forehead. Its face comes closer to him, the smell that leaves its mouth foul and rattling. 

Whatever it is going to do, Louis doesn’t want to see it. He can’t.

It’s over. He has lost. This is it. 

His body is starting to go numb from the cold radiating off its body. His heart, which was racing a few seconds ago, is now merely a faint beat in his chest and his breath comes in shallow puffs. 

The last thing he hears is a scream. A breeze ruffles his hair, then his limbs go limp, and the pain subsides as he sinks into a sea of blackness.

* * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't THE end but it's the beginning of it. I hope you enjoyed chapter 16 nonetheless and don't hate me too much? hmmm...
> 
> thank you so much for reading and for all your wonderful, wonderful comments, they make me SO happy and I'm so living for all your reactions, haha!! Please let me know what you think of it, I really am curious what your theories are. 
> 
> Anyway, i love you guys, stay safe, stay inside! xxx


	17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys I hope everyone is okay and safe! 
> 
> thank you so much for all your lovely feedback, theories and thoughts on it - it brings me so much joy, seriously thank you for reading, and giving this story a chance. 
> 
> Enjoy! x

* * * 

Slowly, Louis comes to his senses. It starts with a feeling of warmth surrounding him from head to toe. The hottest part is his face. It’s as if he were onstage and a million spotlights were directed at him, blinding him. His mind is still far away, sizzling like oil in a pan, but that, too, is subsiding, leaving a sensation of being hungover behind. He blinks his lashes open, unable to move anything else because something soft and heavy is pinning him down. 

What he sees isn’t anything unusual. It’s the same ceiling that Louis has woken up underneath countless times before, yet it seems out of place. His brain is confused, but he doesn’t know why which causes even more confusion to swirl in his gut. _ This is wrong _, is his first clear thought. His head pounds. Had he and Harry ended up at the pub and drank themselves into oblivion? Perhaps that is why he can’t even remember walking to the pub and entering it? Hm. That doesn’t seem right either. 

His memories of the previous night still haven’t come around by the time he rolls his head to the side, staring with bleary eyes into the beaming sunlight. It seems to mock his pain, as if it knows what happened. 

Then, the question pops into his mind of whether Amber brought him on another night adventure. But again, something about the theory doesn’t fit. Louis realises why a second later. 

When he draws his arms out from under the blanket, there are white bandages wrapped tightly around both of his forearms. Louis frowns, perplexed.

There is blood visible through the gauze, like he had been bleeding throughout the night and the white bandage soaked it up like a sponge. It doesn’t hurt, which must be a good sign. Yet it leaves nothing but horror in his bones as he sits up carefully, his back stinging and his muscles screaming at him to stop fucking moving. His eyes scan his arms as he turns them over, gently tracing his fingers over the bandage, putting a bit more pressure on it. He hisses when pain prickles on his left arm, gritting his teeth. 

What the bloody hell happened to him? 

He glances to the side, checking the time — it’s just past noon. 

Fuck, okay. 

Wetting his cracked, dry lips, he takes in the room in its entirety. It looks completely normal in the broad daylight. The bedroom door is shut, his phone is on the nightstand along with Harry’s journal, and his closet door is a bit ajar, just like he left it after he got dressed for his date with Harry. He blinks, an image flashing behind his inner eye. He holds his breath. 

Louis remembers going upstairs to get ready, his mother urging him to take the biscuits that she and Harry had baked earlier in the day. He got dressed in what he is wearing currently and then… his brows knit together. Louis blinks down at his arms. They itch under their layer of protection. His eyes dart from his forearms to the closed door. 

Louis had heard a noise and thought that his mother dropped something on the floor, but instead of finding his mother… he found — what? 

He strains his brain to kickstart, but the sunlight is making his headache worse now and his skull pulses with each beat of his heart. The image he sees when he closes his eyelids is straight out of a horror movie. He blinks his eyes open, staring blankly at the blanket. His fingers twitch and his legs flex, tension building in his muscles. He sucks in a sharp inhale. 

_ Oh my god, _ he thinks, realisation overcoming him all at once. _ Oh my god. _

Something had chased him, attacked him, and scratched at his arms because he had tried to hold it back from hurting his mother. That’s it. That’s what happened…

_ And then what? _he asks himself. 

His throat burns as he forces a swallow. His mouth is dry and his tongue is fuzzy and swollen, sticking to the roof of his mouth. Once more, he licks over his cracked lips, sucking a bit of dead skin between his teeth. 

The image in his mind… it can’t be real. It’s too much. 

Ghosts are fine, he gets that. Harry doesn’t look very scary. Amber might act a bit weird and ominous at times, but she’s alright too, just a ghost girl trying to reach out to him. The ghosts at the pub looked like humans, annoying maybe, but not very scary. If he didn’t know any better, he might think that they were like him, alive and breathing, having a night out with their friends. But that isn’t the case, they are dead. 

However, what he saw — what he remembers now — was neither _ human _ nor a _ ghost _. Not a usual ghost, at least. What was it? 

He remembers its wide, cut open mouth, resembling a much scarier version of the Joker, stitched with thick, dirty cords to hold its cheeks together. It had grinned maniacally at him with a frozen smile, lips making a rattling noise and eyes huge and staring, a crazed gleam inside the black pupils. He remembers the greasy long black hair framing its pale, dead looking face and reaching nearly the floor in its squatting position, its fingers wide and long, slender and spread like spiders’ feet on the ground to keep it upright. 

Louis gulps. 

It had attacked him, laughed in his face, its voice now like an echo waving through his mind. It had a high-pitched, breathy laugh.

A shiver rolls down Louis’ spine and he can’t help but shake his fragile, hurting shoulders as a tingling sensation spreads over his skin and goosebumps raise, his fine hair standing straight. It had said something to him and though he is able to recall its voice and laugh, the words it told him are missing from the blur of the fading memory. 

In the safety of his bedroom, it would be easy to conclude it was just another nightmare, but his arms are proof that it really happened. His fingers itch with the urge to unwrap and check on his skin. He doesn’t do it though — whoever took care of him did a professional job and if his memory is right, the bandages are for his own good, letting his arms heal on their own without him having to get a look at the gruesome picture. Louis recalls with another shudder that there was a lot of blood dripping from his arms, wetting his shirt.

Unable to stop himself, he pinches a bit of fabric between his numb fingers and holds the shirt away from his stomach for inspection. His eyes turn round as he spots dark stains of dried, red-brownish blood on it, right across his chest. The stain makes it look like his arm was held against his chest in a way that suggests it had been broken, yet there is no such pain like he had experienced back when he actually broke his arm as a child. His friend had forcefully kicked a football into his arm, causing a nausea-inducing crack as pain bloomed in his arm and wrist. It hurt for days. 

His examination of his own body comes to a halt as he hears a loud voice coming from downstairs. He flinches at the noise, his heart jumping to his throat. The skin around his neck tightens and for a moment he freezes, unable to breathe. Then there is another noise which causes curiosity to overpower his fear and confusion. 

With slow movements of his sore limbs, Louis heaves himself out of bed, careful not to use his arms too much. He comes to a stand, swaying in place as his mind goes dizzy with the sudden movement. He shakes his head slightly, trying to get the fog out of his mind as he pads to the door. He hesitates. 

Something holds him back from opening it, a little panicked voice in his mind telling him not to check what it is and just stay here. Here he is safe, here there is sunlight and he can see. Whatever awaits behind that door might threaten to harm him again. He takes a few inhales and exhales, calming himself down until his chest stops heaving like he just ran a marathon. He pushes the door handle down, ignoring the way his fingers shake. His heart pounds matching to the pain in his head as he peeks into the hallway with wide, blinking eyes. It’s empty. 

He releases a shuddering sigh and tiptoes on wobbly knees towards the staircase. The voices grow louder, causing his headache to explode and blind him. Clenching his eyes shut, he grinds his teeth. The pain nearly causes him to drop on his knees, but he endures it. After a moment of standing still and shutting the outside world — mostly the light — out, he blinks his lashes and moves step by step down to the entrance hall. 

"It’s the only possible option," someone says.

Louis frowns, stopping by the mirror, hidden from view.

"I have been saying this for weeks! And now look what happened." It’s Zayn, his voice higher than Louis has ever heard it — rushed, angered, and wild. Very unlike Zayn. Somehow it makes the situation worse because — _ Zayn _ in _ this _ house?

Someone huffs, managing to sound angry just with that tiny breathy sound and Louis stills completely. It’s Harry. 

A clatter comes from the kitchen like someone has just set down a cup and then Liam throws in, "We believe you," which confuses Louis.

They believe what? Couldn’t he have woken up earlier? Fuck.

"Thank you, Liam," Harry snaps. His voice sets Louis into motion at last and he shuffles to the doorway, taking in the unbelievable scene in front of him.

Harry is standing between breakfast island and worktop, his back turned towards Louis. Zayn and Liam are on the other side, sitting on high stools. Three of his mother’s cups are set on the breakfast island. For a moment, none of them notice him. Then, Liam’s eyes flicker to him. Zayn is still staring at Harry with angered, dark eyes and a hard expression on his tired face. 

Liam smiles. It’s not as big as it usually is and though it’s shaky and weak, Liam still manages to look friendly and happy to see him, his eyes lightened with something like relief. 

"How are you?" he asks by way of a greeting. 

In an instant, Louis has three pairs of eyes on him. Sweat forms in his neck as he freezes, not daring to look at anyone but Liam as he tries to find his voice. Because he is weak, his eyes drag to Harry for a split-second. If Harry has ever looked like a ghost, it is now. His eyes are circled with dark bags, his hair is a mess, tousled and tangled, and his cheeks are ashen, having a greyish touch to them. Louis’ eyes snap back to Liam, then they wander to Zayn. Zayn isn’t looking at him any longer but is fixated on his cup, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

When Louis doesn’t answer Liam’s simple question, Harry swallows and comes to Louis, which sets a row of motions free, like someone off screen has said, _ 'go'. _ Zayn hops off the stool and, to Louis' utter shock and surprise, stands in front of Louis, forming a barrier between him and Harry. Liam comes to a stand next to Harry, who stares at Zayn with fierce eyes.

"You leave him alone. You have done enough already," Zayn hisses at Harry. 

Harry’s shoulders hunch in defeat, his glance flickering to Louis for a second before dropping to the ground. He ruffles his hair. If there is one thing that Louis wants most in this very moment, it’s to comfort his boy. Harry looks crestfallen and small, but Louis can’t use his voice nor his strength to tell Zayn off, to push him out of the way and wrap his arms around Harry’s middle, telling him that he is alright. 

_ Is _ he alright, though? 

He feels far from being alright. The atmosphere in the kitchen is suffocating, nobody saying a word. Harry lifts his head, staring over Zayn’s shoulder at Louis, his expression turning soft when their gazes lock.

"How are you?" he asks. His voice is gentle and raw, like he, too, feels choked and suffocated. 

Louis wants to answer Harry, wants to do so much more, but he can’t. He is frozen. 

"I think he’s in shock or something," Liam mumbles, looking from Louis to Zayn. "Let him sit, Zayn. Look at him, he’s shaking." 

Louis hadn’t noticed, but it’s true. His fingers are trembling by his sides and his bottom lip wobbles. 

Harry apparently has had enough of the dark-haired boy. He frowns deeply, raising his eyebrows at Zayn as he moves towards them, his expression daring Zayn to stop him another time.

Zayn doesn’t. He steps aside and watches with sad eyes as Harry pulls Louis gently into his arms. 

The moment Louis feels Harry’s chest against his cheek, he instantly relaxes. He sighs and although he can’t lift his arms to embrace him in return, he pushes his face more against Harry. One of Harry’s hands buries into his hair while the other strokes between his shoulder blades as he has done so many times before when Louis would wake up from his nightmares. Louis doesn’t know what is going on but he whimpers in relief that Harry is here and holding him, because if anyone can make it better — make it all go away — it’s Harry. 

Harry’s arms are like anchors around Louis, grounding him, bringing him back to his senses fully. As they part, Harry leads him further into the kitchen. They pass Liam and Zayn who watch them with careful eyes and Harry draws one of the kitchen chairs back by the window and helps Louis sit down. He goes willingly, doing what Harry wants him to do because his mind is still a mess, his body is shaking, and he has no idea what’s going on, what happened really and… it’s too much. 

Harry kneels in front of him, taking his limp hands in his, his green eyes searching. 

"Talk to me," Harry murmurs, his voice begging. There are unshed tears in his eyes and Louis’ heart squeezes violently. "Please, talk to me, baby." His thumb rubs over Louis’.

Louis’ gaze wanders over every inch of Harry’s face. He takes in the way his jaw is set tightly and his full lips are pressed and tugged into his mouth. His teeth grind over them, causing the pink colour to fade to a drained white. His dark hair frames his pretty face, his curls a mess but wonderful nonetheless, looking like he has been running his fingers through them more often than not. His eyes look the worst, though. There is so much sorrow in the green that Louis loves so much. Harry is beautiful, like an angel, unreal and very much ghost-like. Louis, too, feels more like a ghost than a human, yet his heart is beating in his chest, his head aches painfully, and his muscles are sore. Although he felt like he had died last night, Louis knows that he is very much alive. He guesses that you’d know if you were dead. 

"Louis?" Harry whispers, releasing his lips. They are cracked like Louis’ own. 

"I’ll get him some water," Liam interjects. 

"Maybe he lost his voice?" Zayn wonders, standing next to Harry. "Is that possible?" The question sounds more like it’s directed at himself than at Harry, and Harry seems to know that too, not answering, still staring at Louis as he waits for a reaction. 

Liam holds a glass of water out under Louis’ nose. It brings him out of his frozen state. He blinks at the liquid, looking at how it reflects the sunlight, the image of their window frame on the surface. Harry takes it from Liam and brings their interlocked fingers to it, helping Louis wrap his fingers around the cold glass and guiding it slowly to his lips. He nods as Louis makes eye contact with him. 

"It’s good for you. C’mon, take a sip," Harry urges with a nod. 

Louis’ lips part and Harry guides the rim of the glass between the gap, tilting it a bit upward so that the water flows into his mouth. He swallows on instinct and closes his eyes. It feels good and tastes better than any water has ever tasted. Eagerly, he wraps his hand tighter around the glass and empties it, his Adam apple bobbing quickly as it slides down to his empty stomach, cooling him from the inside out. It gives him a refreshing kick, unfreezing him at once and as he opens his eyes and brings the glass away from his lips, he feels a bit more alive. He smacks his lips with a tiny sigh. 

Harry smiles at him, taking the glass and giving it to Zayn. His hands find Louis’ again not a second later. 

"What do you need, Lou?" he asks. 

"A cigarette," Louis whispers, his voice hoarse and his throat sandpapery. 

Zayn huffs and Liam chuckles. Harry doesn’t react for a beat. Then, he shakes his head and leans forward, kissing the back of Louis’ hand with soft, dry lips, before bringing his forehead to Louis’ knees and breathing out. Louis’ hand is slow to lift, but then he buries it in Harry’s hair, watching as his shoulders shake in silent laughter. When Harry lifts his head, he shakes it but there is a tiny, amused smile on his lips and a bit more life in his eyes. 

"Of course," Harry whispers, standing and helping Louis to his feet, too. 

They all go outside. 

Harry curves his arm around the smaller part of Louis’ back and guides him to the outdoor sofa, making sure there are enough pillows so that his back is pressed comfortably against the headrest. Harry sits close to him, seeking contact it seems. Louis is glad for it, his free hand finding Harry’s as he takes the cigarette Zayn is offering him with the other.

They are all silent for a moment as Harry lights Louis’ cig for him. It lessens the headache and as nicotine starts flowing through his blood, he relaxes, closing his eyes and leaning against Harry’s shoulder. He doesn’t talk as long as he smokes and the others are silent too, watching him. 

When he is done with his cigarette, he rubs over his eyes and sighs, his mind now clearer than before. Though he feels a bit sleep drunk still, he can make out his thoughts better, which is a start. The feeling in his fingers comes back slowly and he peeks at his arms. Harry follows his gaze and kisses the top of Louis’ head. 

"I’m sure you have questions," Zayn says, his voice soothing to Louis’ ears. 

"Where is my mum?" Louis asks at last. 

"She’s safe, Louis,” Zayn assures him. “I gave her something to help her sleep.”

Louis opens his mouth to voice his concern about her pregnancy, but Zayn is faster.

“It’s natural, so it won’t have any negative side effects on her or the baby. She won’t wake up for another few hours though." 

Louis nods, lowering his eyes to the outside table. 

Zayn sighs. "We heard your screams, last night." 

Louis’ eyebrows furrow. "I didn’t scream." 

Harry shifts next to him. "You did. I heard you too." 

"We don’t really know what happened, Louis," Zayn starts, carefully, "but when we arrived here…" his eyes dart to Harry before snapping back to Louis, "there was a thing… another, uh, _ ghost _ learning over you. You were screaming and I… Liam — he acted pretty fast. It could have ended badly for everyone, but he pushed it away from you, tackled it onto the ground. I don’t know, we thought you were dead at first. Your mother was out of her mind. She was screaming too, she told us that something was chasing you guys but she was too panicked to explain it better than that. I can only assume what happened." 

"It was a woman," Louis murmurs, every spoken word hurting the walls of his throat. He doesn’t know how to continue. Was it a woman? Was it something else? A ghost? No, it looked like a demon straight out of hell. 

"We think we know what it was," Zayn says, his voice pressed.

Harry stiffens next to him.

"It seems like Harry is pretty familiar with it?" It is meant as a provocation, Louis hears it in the way Zayn’s voice lilts at the end with a raise of his eyebrows. 

Louis stares at Zayn.

Zayn stares right back, awaiting an answer.

Louis could take a good guess that this was _ 'her' _ but… he had imagined her to be quite different, not so gruesome. He can’t believe that Harry actually found comfort in her — as a child nonetheless. If Louis would have spotted her as a seven year old boy, he would be traumatised to death. But no, Harry went to her to talk about his fucking problems and loves her like a mother, as he has stated in his journal and even defended her in front of Louis a few times. He had told Louis something along the lines of _ 'nobody would understand when they see her, she’s different. _ ' And _ hell _, Louis thought maybe she had a scar or something that could stir uncomfortable feelings inside another person, but never in his life did he think she would seem like a monster from a horror movie with wide insane eyes and a sewn mouth. 

Louis shakes his head to get her disfigured face out of his mind. He glances at Harry, asking with his eyes if it’s true, if it was her. Because if so, it’s not only tragic that Harry sees her as something close to a mother and friend but it also makes sense why Amber would be scared shitless. Louis wonders why he saw it yesterday and not in his dreams, why it hid its true form from him in the dark, what it intended to do to him. 

"I’m sorry," Harry says. A muscle twitches in his jaw. "I didn’t think…" 

"That’s right, you didn’t bloody _ think _," Zayn intervenes harshly. "Do you know what could have happened last night? I have a feeling that this thing wanted something more than a cuddle out of Louis. Look at him, Harry." 

"I am," Harry says, brittle. 

For a moment nobody says another word. Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on him, but he chooses to stare holes in his kneecaps. His body is tense and his arms tingle with the memory of clawing nails digging into his skin, ripping him open. The way she stared at him as he hid behind the side of the chest drawer, her slender fingers wrapped around the leg of the bed. A shiver runs along his shoulders and he shakes his head another time. 

"We need to do something," Harry says, surprising everyone, probably including himself. 

"Indeed, we do," Zayn agrees, crossing his arms. 

"What does she want?" Louis asks, his brows twitching. "If she wanted to kill me, she had me at gunpoint like a million times last night. She just stared at me." In question, Louis blinks at Harry. 

Harry considers him for a moment, his expression thoughtful and his true emotions hidden behind a calm mask. 

"She looked close to killing you when we arrived," Liam chimes in. 

"What did you tell my mother? She saw her too. I’m sure she had questions." Louis’ heart pangs in his chest, imagining his mother having to witness that thing attacking him, unable to help. At the same time, he is glad that she didn’t try anything because… that could have ended badly. 

"Well, she knows about the ghosts now. We kind of had no choice left but to explain. She didn’t believe us until I made Harry show her."

Louis’ eyebrows raise at his boyfriend.

"I just disappeared and showed up again. She nearly fainted." Harry pulls his shoulders up to his ears awkwardly. "She didn’t take it too well." 

Yeah, Louis bets she didn’t. 

"I will just go with my old plan," Zayn says with a firm voice. 

Louis’ head whips around to stare at him. 

"Louis, think about it." 

"No," Louis rasps, "no, oh no, no." He shakes his head, dread filling his gut. He looks at Harry helplessly.

Fuck, no, Zayn just can’t banish all the ghosts just because there is one lunatic amongst them. Harry wouldn’t allow Zayn to do that either, right? It’s his life on the line as well.

"Harry?" Louis asks, his voice small.

Harry averts his gaze, his body stiff. _ No _. 

"We talked about it before you woke up. We talked all night about the options we have left." 

"B-but, no, but…" Louis stutters, his heart pounding in his chest. 

"Louis, are you seriously saying you want to let that thing live here? With your family?" 

"It didn’t want my mother, it wanted me." 

Harry huffs. 

Zayn shakes his head. "I don’t think this makes it any better." 

"It makes it worse," Harry rasps, swallowing. He stands up and Louis feels the distance between them physically, his heart aching for closeness. Harry turns and walks towards the river.

Louis wants to follow, but Zayn’s gaze holds him back. He stays put, watching wistfully as Harry stalks over the green. 

"What if we just banish her?" Louis asks, his eyes hanging on Harry’s back before flicking between Zayn and Liam. They both look as crestfallen as he feels. "Does that work? It has to, right? Ghosts exist so… this has to work too, yes?" 

His hopes are destroyed as Zayn leans back on the couch, letting his head roll onto the headrest. "It’s all or nothing. You can’t just banish one particular ghost, that’s not how it works. It’s a difficult thing to do anyway—" 

"Then don’t." Louis sits more upright, ignoring the pain that zips over the joints in his spine. "Just don’t. Let me figure something out. Harry knows her, maybe they can talk it out." It sounds stupid, even to his own ears. 

"Sure, a talk will fix it," Zayn laughs humourlessly, snorting. 

Louis feels like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of his lungs, leaving him empty and suffocating. His arms itch with the proof that a talk won’t fix it. His heart disagrees and tosses defiantly. 

"I don’t want to agree with Zayn here, but he is right. We talked about it, and even Harry is on our side," Liam says, his voice gentle. 

"He can’t be," Louis murmurs, feeling close to fainting. "He can’t," he protests, looking out over the garden to see Harry sitting in their usual spot, his back turned to them. "His sister is here, too. It’d mean she would also be gone. Where do ghosts go after… they are banished from a place? It’s too much of a risk. They don’t deserve to be punished. This isn’t right, no…" Louis shakes his head, pulling on his bottom lip and ignoring the agony that springs into his arms. 

"It doesn’t matter." 

"How can you say that, Zayn?" Louis glares at him. "Oh, right," he huffs, "it’s not your family. It’s nobody that you care about. Well, we’ll have to find another solution because that’s just not going to work for me." 

"What do you want to do? What do you know about ghosts? Nothing, Louis. I just wish I would have acted sooner, but no. I didn’t because I didn’t want to go behind your back. See where that got us? Don’t be stupid. You have your entire life ahead of you, don’t destroy it for… what? Some summer fling? A ghost? There is no other option, Louis. We either do it my way or…" he trails off, tugging on his hair in frustration. "I don’t want to assume the worst but…" he clicks his tongue, his eyes lingering on Louis’ arms. Louis has the urge to hide them. 

Louis blinks. "Yesterday was nothing." 

Zayn throws his hands in the air, glancing at Liam as if to say _ 'do you hear this?'. _ Liam averts his eyes. 

"I survived, didn’t I?"

"Only because we came at the right time." Zayn jumps out of his seat. 

"Why are you so… determined about this?" Louis wonders. "What do I matter to you? Why do you want to ’save’ me? Huh?" 

Zayn stares at him. 

"His parents…" Liam starts but is silenced by another of Zayn’s glares. 

"My parents died because of a ghost," Zayn sits back down, talking to the ground, a calm expression settling over his face. "They died because of me, you know? I told you that once I was in love with a ghost too and well… my parents weren’t pleased about that, of course. They were taught from an early age about the damage ghosts can cause and they warned me. He tried to lure me into death, said that way we could be together forever. When you’re young, forever is what you want with someone, so… I was stupid enough to believe it. My parents came at the right time, but he was angry. And when ghosts get really, really, angry… they have no control over the things they do. They act on impulse and his was to protect me, to keep me. He killed both of them in a blink of an eye. I caused their deaths. Ever since, I’ve promised myself to never let another ghost destroy another family, take another person away because they are selfish and lonely and sinister." Zayn takes a big breath, looking at Louis. "There you have it, that is why I’m trying to protect you and your family." 

Louis is at a loss of what to say to that. A buzzing sound rings in his ears. His lips flap for a moment, but no words crawl up his throat. His heart hurts for Zayn, for the boy that wanted only to find love and instead accidentally caused the deaths of his beloved parents.

He doesn’t say it aloud, but Harry would never do something like that. But then again, this thing that attacked Louis wasn’t Harry but… a woman… that is fond of Harry. This is a mess. 

Before Louis can voice how sorry he is for Zayn’s loss and apologise for being ignorant, the boy takes up talking once more.

"This thing is dangerous," Zayn says, as if he could sense where Louis’ thoughts had wandered to. "I know it is. I don't believe it was a ghost. I think it’s a demon. It’s not what the movies show you. Hell isn’t a real place but demons are very much amongst us, and they are strong. They feed on emotions, on fear and love and everything. That thing… Harry said it was already there before they moved in and I can take a good guess. She was a witch. That woman was a witch who was burned here on these grounds and…" he swallows, lowering his gaze as he carries on, "a witch who is trapped as a demon in the world of the living is more dangerous, has more powers than a normal ghost. She won’t be easy to banish from this place. She is stronger than I am, maybe even stronger now that she’s dead than when she was alive. And I don’t think she took it easily when the humans burned her on a stick. Witches are prideful creatures." 

Zayn’s last sentence brings Louis’ nightmares to life. He gulps.

Zayn seems to see something in his expression, because not a moment later he raises his eyebrows and asks, "But you knew this already, didn’t you?" 

"No… but," he doesn’t want to say it. It will seal this whole thing and there won’t be any coming back from this. But having two pairs of eyes upon him puts an extra pressure on top of his hurting shoulders, so he licks his lips and confesses, "I had nightmares about fire, like I was the one burning alive. It was… so real." His forehead furrows, and he blinks his eyes wide open, trying to get the pictures of flames out of his mind. The smell of smoke creeps into his nostrils and he coughs, his throat dry and aching. "Harry told me that she can show people her emotions or memories inside their minds and I think… that is what this was? My nightmares?" He scrunches his nose because this all sounds surreal. He can’t believe this is his life. 

"Ah," Zayn draws the words out. "Yes, he is right about that. I haven’t studied demons a lot since I never had to but from what I’ve heard, mostly from my granny, they can do a lot of things to another person. You don’t want to find out what. It’s gruesome. Exorcisms are real, you know? Demons can possess people and live in their bodies, walk around earth and suck even more energy out of people. Some say that is what causes depression." 

"Why would they do that? What is the point?" Louis fiddles with the hem of his bloodstained shirt. He seriously needs to get changed but his appearance is the least of his concerns currently.

"They are bored. They have been living on earth for probably a few hundred years at least. That way they aren’t trapped to a house or a hospital or whatever, I dunno. A demon can only be created when a witch doesn’t want to die. Her last emotions, the bit of fight she has left inside her is used to create protection around her soul. But in the process of becoming a demon, it is mostly stripped down, causing her to lose all of her humanity until nothing is left. Her morals are lost and she is just something that is neither human nor ghost. It’s pure evil at worst and keeps to itself at best, but that is very unlikely." 

Louis nods, his mind swimming. 

"I have been studying the banishing spell ever since you came to me. I didn’t think there would be a demon involved, though. So, that’s a bit tricky," Zayn whispers, his voice apologetic. "But I’ll try my best." 

Louis sighs. "There is no way for you to just get rid of that demon woman then?" He can see the final answer written all over Zayn’s features and leans more against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment. There is no other way around this, he thinks. He glances at the house where his mother is sleeping just inside. His stepfather will come home tonight. "I’m selfish," Louis murmurs, a lump growing in his throat, "aren’t I?" 

Zayn bobs his head. Liam looks at him with sad puppy eyes. 

"I wouldn’t call you selfish. You’re in love with Harry. It’s understandable that you don’t want to let him go," Zayn settles on saying after considering Louis for a beat. "You’ll find someone else in Bristol. I’m sure of that. You’ll be sad for a while, but it’ll pass, okay? Time heals, babe." 

But Harry isn’t just someone he fell in love with. It’s _ Harry _ for fuck’s sake. Harry, his Harry. Harry who loves to play guitar and tell jokes, Harry who is gentle and amazing, Harry who had the worst childhood and suffered through so much only to die before he even took one step outside these grounds. Harry who holds him at night, Harry who has owned Louis’ heart since the moment Louis first spotted him in his room on the very first day. All of his favourite memories of Harry sting and close in on his throat. Tears spring in his eyes. He can’t just let Harry go. He loves Harry like he has never loved anyone in his entire life and he feels it in his bones that what they have is special. It’s something you experience only once in your life if you’re lucky. He doesn’t say any of that to Zayn, knowing he will wave it away with another scoff and frown. Instead, he stands up with trembling legs. Both set their eyes on him. 

"I’ll just —" he thumbs over his shoulder, pointing at the garden, "talk to him, yes?" 

Zayn nods, and Liam smiles. Louis turns, wiping tears away and shuffling in Harry’s direction. His bones are heavy and filled with sorrow as he moves towards his love, sitting on the grass, looking out to the river. 

"How are you feeling?" Harry asks without looking at him. 

"Like shit," Louis says, carefully sitting next to him. He draws his legs beneath his bum and looks at the water flowing too. "I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Harry." 

Harry’s head snaps around. Louis feels his stare but keeps his eyes forward. 

"This is all my fault," he murmurs. "Because of me, Zayn wants to…" he wrinkles his nose, "banish you guys. It isn’t right. This is your home. And I made that happen."

He dares to glance at Harry, but the moment he looks into his eyes, he can’t bring himself to look away because those green eyes are the eyes that he has fallen so hard for. He doesn’t know how long they have together or how long he will have to look at Harry, to be with him, to breathe the same air that he does. It’s too much to think about. A sob rips through his throat as more awful tears wet his cheeks.

"I’m sorry," Louis whimpers. "This is all because of me." 

Harry shakes his head frantically, his arms wrapping Louis in an embrace. Louis sinks against Harry’s chest, breathing in the familiar mild smell that lingers on his shirt. But it doesn’t have the effect of calming him down. Instead, it brings more sadness in the form of tears and he sobs against his boy.

He won’t ever get to wake up next to Harry again. There won’t be a winter break to visit him. There won’t be a time where they will sing together. There won’t be another time where Louis sees Harry throw a grin at him before actually telling the joke. There won’t be another time when he comes home from his run to find his mum and Harry sipping tea and playing cards, baking, or watching a movie. 

And what about Harry? He won’t ever have the chance of a happy ending. He won’t get to come clean and make up with his sister. Where will they go? Will it hurt? 

All Louis wanted for the boy was to bring a bit of joy into his afterlife. He has done quite the opposite now. It backfired. He won’t ever be able to forgive himself for that. 

Louis clings to Harry, his nails digging into his shoulders as he tries to get closer, closer, closer. It’s still not close enough and it makes him sob harder. He just got Harry, he can’t just… let him go like that. 

Harry holds him tight, rubbing his back and making soothing ‘_ shh’ _ noises in his hair. It triggers another memory and Louis sniffs loudly against Harry’s neck. 

"It… i-it was you," Louis whimpers into his skin. "You…" 

"What?" Harry breathes, sounding close to tears himself. 

"The one who…" Louis draws his head back, blinking tears away as he frowns, trying to gather the pieces of the memory. "When I was sleepwalking, when I didn’t know what was happening… you… _ shh _ ," he makes the noise to demonstrate what he is talking about. " _ Shh… _" he does it again. "I thought it might have been my mum finding me outside again and b-bringing me to bed… but it was you." He wipes his running nose. 

Harry’s eyebrows quirk. "Hm," his eyes flicker away then back at him. He rubs his neck awkwardly. "Yeah… I… well, I couldn’t just leave you standing outside, right?" He scrunches his nose apologetically at him. "I didn’t want to… intervene, but…" he trails off, shaking his head. 

Louis nods, sniffing. "Thank you."

Harry snorts. "Seriously?" He pecks Louis’ forehead. "Don’t thank me for that. It all was because of me. Everything." He gulps, averting his eyes. "My sister probably reached out to you because I was hanging out with you and so she thought it’d be safe for her to do too. She was showing you in the most disturbing way what happened to her, I guess. And now another part of my life tried to… kill you or…" His eyebrows pull together and he swallows thickly. "I don’t know, but… when I arrived here, Liam had just pushed her off you and you… there was so much blood," Harry whispers, brittle, "everywhere, I — I… thought you were dead! I fucking thought that she killed you. And you weren’t waking up," Harry looks at him with wide glossy eyes. "I can’t… what if something like this happens again? I couldn’t bear to cause another death. Especially not your death. You’re the most wonderful person I have ever known, Louis. I love you so much, but it’s my fault, Louis, everything. I am so stupid. I should have kept my distance." His voice breaks at the end and a heart-wrenching sob leaves his lips. He covers his face with his hands, his shoulders trembling as he weeps. 

"Harry…" Louis whimpers, pulling at one of his hands. His throat is closed, his voice thin, and a stream of tears drip from his chin. "Harry…please," he cries, "_ please… _" He tries again to uncover Harry’s face, but his hand won’t budge. At last, he gives up, winding his burning arms around Harry’s middle, pressing his face into Harry’s stomach and sobbing. He weeps with Harry, his shoulders are wracked by sad gasping sounds. It all hurts. Everything. It’s overwhelming and Louis is drowning in sadness, choking on his own desperate cries.

Harry buries his nose in Louis’ hair. He feels tears wetting the top of his head and it makes him cry even harder. 

"I don’t want you to go," Louis whimpers, his voice muffled against the fabric of Harry’s shirt. "I can’t let you go. This isn’t right, this isn’t right…" 

"Baby, we have no other choice," Harry says as Louis lifts his head. Harry cradles his chin. "We have no choice. I won’t be responsible for your death. Don’t make me do that, Louis. It’d kill me all over again if something happened to you or your family. I tried, Louis, you have to believe me. I tried talking to her, but she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t react to things the way we do, and I can’t protect you forever from her. There will come a time when I’m not around and… she’ll seek you out, just like last night." He pinches his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to Louis’. 

Louis’ body feels like it’s been ripped apart. His heart has never ached this much. He breaks again, pressing his lips desperately against Harry’s. The kiss is sloppy — their teeth click and both of their lips taste of salt. Louis sucks in a breath through his nostrils, not wanting to bring their lips apart just yet. He shifts even closer to Harry’s front, cupping Harry’s cheeks. When they part at last, neither of them open their eyes as they share the air between them. Harry’s breath fans hot over Louis’ face and Louis can’t stop crying. He kisses Harry again, then buries his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, his hands holding Harry, touching any part of him that they can reach. Harry holds him back just as fiercely, kissing the top of Louis’ hair rapidly. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you," Harry chants, his voice deep and broken. He sniffs. "I love you. Please, don’t forget about me…" 

"I could never. Never, Harry," Louis cries, swallowing thickly. 

"Louis, promise me that you will live your life, okay, baby? This is the end of mine, and it should have come twenty-five years ago, but this isn’t the end of yours. Run, okay? Run from this place, as far as you can. Take Niall, travel the world, and think of me when you’re standing on top of a mountain or whatever, wherever, yes? Please…" Harry whispers, holding his face between his hands, his thumb caressing over Louis’ cheekbones, wiping salty tears away. 

"I can’t," Louis closes his eyes for a beat. 

"Yes, you can. Promise me, Louis," Harry presses his lips softly against his. "Promise me… you said you would do anything for me, and this is it, Lou. That’s what I want, baby. We were foolish enough to think this would work out. I just… hoped it’d lasted longer, at least a bit. I thought we’d have more time." 

"I can’t let them do that to you," Louis whimpers, sniffing. "Where will you go?" 

For the first time, nervousness flashes over Harry’s face, unsure. 

"You don’t know, either," Louis breathes, blinking rapidly. 

"No, I- I don’t." 

"Then, let’s not," Louis shakes his head. Harry’s hands fall in his lap. "Let’s just not. We can figure out something else. Please…" 

Harry closes his eyes. "Promise me that you’ll run. Tonight. You’ll pack your things and go, leave…" 

Shock numbs his body as he stares at Harry. "Tonight?" he whimpers. "No, that’s too soon." 

"Do you really think she’ll wait for us to be ready?" Harry asks, his slender fingers interlocking with Louis’. "She won’t. She is getting ready for another attack." 

"How do you know that? How can you know that?" Louis’ head starts to hurt. 

"It’s just a feeling," Harry says with a defeated sigh. "But it’s better to get rid of her sooner rather than too late." 

"Tonight…" Louis closes his eyes, shaking his head. 

"Tonight," Harry kisses his forehead. "At least we’ll have until then…" 

* * * 

Pulling themselves together is the hardest thing that either of them has ever had to do. It takes two more breakdowns, one comforting the other, and many more deep breaths before they are able to channel the rest of the strength in their bones and walk slowly, hand in hand, back to the house. 

By the time they step into the living room, Jay is already awake. Her eyes flicker from Louis’ face to their interlocked hands and turn ice cold. Zayn and Liam are in her company, each of them with another cup of tea in front of them. Liam’s eyes linger sadly on them. Zayn nods at Harry, who nods back. Louis hates the meaning of it with his entire being. 

Louis shifts his weight, and Harry squeezes his hand. Since everyone now knows that he is a ghost, he kisses Louis’ temple and is gone.

Louis’ fingers clench around nothing but air. His heart is left empty as he shuffles to the kitchen table and takes a seat next to Zayn. The chair is opposite his mother, who now has her eyes lowered to her cup which she holds tightly in her grip. He doesn’t know what to say. She looks awful, pale and shaken. Her hair is all over the place, hanging like a curtain over half of her face. 

"Mum…" Louis croaks, reaching out for her. To his surprise, she takes his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers. Her gaze finds his. "Are you… okay?"

It didn’t hurt her too, right? Nobody had said anything about it attacking his mother, but still Louis’ eyes scan her face, shoulders, and arms for any visible wounds. There are none. The rope around his ribcage loosens a tiny bit, but it’s not much easier to breathe. A lump still sits in his sandpaper throat like a rock, unbudging. 

"Are you?" Her eyes take in his arms. 

He is far from okay. Louis doesn’t say anything. 

"We just explained what we’re going to do," Zayn says, his voice smooth and calm. "There is a small B&B in town, nothing fancy, but I booked a room for you guys to stay for the night." 

Louis frowns at Zayn. 

"Don’t even think about being here when I cast the spell. It’s too dangerous." Zayn’s expression turns stern. "I’m sure Harry is on my side on this too." 

_ Tonight _. 

Louis grits his teeth. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it." 

"No, but at least there you both will be safe." 

His mother shakes her head, withdrawing her hand from his. "Ghosts…" she sighs. She closes her eyes and massages her temples, then moves on to her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "I can’t believe it." 

"I know it’s difficult to grasp the concept when you are just learning about it," Zayn smiles at her gently, "but tonight all of your troubles will go away. At least, I hope so." 

In an instant, the rope is back around his ribcage, squeezing the life out of his upper body. It’s hard not to jump on Zayn’s throat, honestly. It takes every bit of what Louis has left to keep himself seated and not launch himself at the other boy. 

"Zayn…" Liam warns, his brown eyes zipping from Zayn to Louis and back. 

Zayn’s smile turns tight. "I’m sorry, Lou. I know you loved Harry, but it’s better —" 

Loved. _ Loved. _

How _dare_ he?

"Shut up," Louis snaps, jumping out of his chair.

Jay startles.

Louis’ hands ball into tight fists by his sides, his nails digging into his skin. "Just shut up, okay? I get it. Harry has to go, everyone in this house has to go, but _ please _ stop… with this… this…" he trails off, at a loss, his chest heaving with quick pants. His head starts aching again. "Don’t say it’s better when it’s just not." 

"Louis," his mother warns, "how can you say that after last night? Don’t you understand what happened? Something attacked you! I… I have never seen anything like it before," she whispers the last sentence to herself, eyes wide and fearful. A visible shiver runs down her spine and she pulls a face. Clicking her tongue, she gets out of her chair and brings her cup to the sink. 

"Harry will be gone, too," Louis says. "Not just that thing."

"Yes," Jay nods, her eyes narrowing at him. "I hope he will be." 

Louis is left staring after her as she slips into the entryway, his body set aflame and his hands clenching around nothing. He looks at Liam and Zayn, but neither of them have any comforting words left to say. 

"I’ll get ready," Zayn says, standing up and moving in front of Louis. He puts his hands on his shoulders, forcing eye contact. "I’m sorry, Louis. I wish it could be different." He shakes his head, his brown eyes sad. Then he straightens his back, smiles wistfully at Louis, and leaves him in the kitchen. "You better get ready too!" he calls from the foyer. 

Liam pulls him into a hug, smiles at him, and is then gone too. 

Louis stares around the empty kitchen, feeling the same awful emptiness spread inside his body. 

* * * 

He finds Harry in his bedroom, the room where they have shared so many nights and days together, laughing, cuddling, singing to each other, writing songs that landed in the bin but were fun to put on paper nonetheless. This is the place where Louis fell in love with Harry and it seems bittersweet that this will be the place where he will say goodbye to him, too.

Louis knew that their time together would end, he just didn’t expect it to end this way. He thought that he would be able to return to visit Harry and be with him when the semester is over without doing long distance. The dread he had felt thinking of leaving Harry to go back to university for a few months seems laughable compared to the pain that he is feeling now. He lingers at the doorway, shifting his weight as he watches Harry on the bed, his body hidden under a duvet even though the room is warm. Louis can sympathise. He, too, is left cold. 

Sniffling quietly, he drags his feet over the ground, sitting next to Harry on the mattress and stroking his hair. Harry’s eyelashes flutter open and he smiles sadly at Louis. 

"Lay with me for a while, yeah?" Harry murmurs, scooting to make room. Louis nods and crawls under the sheets, his body aching for Harry’s. He presses closer, nuzzling Harry’s cheek as Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ middle, his hand settling on the curve of Louis’ waist. 

"Are you scared?" Louis murmurs softly. 

It takes a beat for Harry to reply. "Yes," he confesses in a barely audible whisper. 

Louis swallows, turning to face Harry, minding his arms. They don’t speak for a while with words, but their eyes tell stories, stories of loss, stories of sadness, stories of love and gentleness. There are so many emotions reflected in Harry’s green eyes that Louis feels choked up again.

Louis can’t stand it. He has never felt this sad in his entire life and he can’t make it better; there is no fix for this situation. He wishes he could jump back in time and relive this summer over and over again. He wishes he could stay with Harry here forever. Why, why, why does it have to end like this? It’s not fair. None of it. 

"I love you," Louis says, kissing Harry because that’s all he can do now. He speaks those words against his lips, over and over again until they settle like another warm blanket over them and let them forget their worries for a bit. 

Harry turns his head, breathing shakily through his nose as he deepens their kiss and opens Louis’ lips with his. Their tongues meet and butterflies flutter in Louis’ tummy as Harry brings them closer, cupping Louis’ cheek. Their bodies are flush against one another, like two puzzle pieces clicking. Louis bites gently on Harry’s bottom lip, pulling it away before flicking his tongue playfully into Harry’s mouth, coaxing a beautiful moan out of Harry’s chest. 

Harry guides him on the mattress, moving on top of him while being very careful with Louis’ arms. He brushes Louis’ fringe off his forehead, his eyes hooded. He kisses Louis again, and again, his tongue wiggling into Louis’ mouth in a kitten-like manner.

Louis hums, his hips rolling into the mattress as lust mixes with his love for Harry. He can’t hold back another moan as Harry suckles on his neck. His fingers find Harry’s curls on their own and he clenches his eyes shut as Harry’s hand creeps lower on his stomach until it slips into the waistband of his pants and his fingers wrap about his shaft, squeezing softly. Louis shudders against Harry, feeling hot and flushed. Harry’s dry hand starts working, and it hurts a bit but Louis welcomes it. It makes it feel real, grounding, like this is really happening. 

Harry kisses another broken moan off his lips, his hand working on Louis. 

Louis feels his orgasm building at the base of his spine as the muscles in his legs tense. It’s too soon. He grinds his teeth, moaning and groaning uncontrollably as Harry sucks on his lips.

"I love you," Harry whispers between kisses. It swallows Louis; it’s too much, every single emotion he has experienced throughout the day that was bottled up is now released. It makes him shake and he sees stars spring into his vision as his pants wet with the force of his orgasm. He chases it, his hips rolling upward, fucking into Harry’ curled palm. A whirlwind of fireworks explode behind his closed lids and as his chest rises and falls, he slowly comes back down to earth. 

When he blinks his lashes open, he sees a fallen angel smiling at him. Harry kisses his nose. 

"Lemme," Louis murmurs after the fog of the aftermath clears, sneaking a hand down Harry’s pants. 

"Your arms, baby…" Harry warns. 

"Don’t care," Louis grunts, fumbling with Harry’s button blindly. Once it snaps open, he is quick to wrap his hand around Harry.

His arm burns as he starts to move his wrist because of the restricted space he has to work with, but he pulls Harry into another kiss, swallowing each of his wonderful moans. Harry’s cock feels heavy in his hand, the vein pulsing on Louis’ palm. The tip is already leaking and Louis swipes his thumb over it, using Harry’s pre-cum as lube. It makes a wet sound that is muffled by all the fabric but causes them to moan in union anyway. Harry is panting for breath, his eyebrows pulling together as he groans. His lips stop their movements against Louis’ and his head falls into Louis’ neck. Louis’ arms are shaking from trying to keep him upright.

"Fuck," he moans. "Louis…" 

"I’m here," Louis whispers, kissing Harry’s temple.

Harry’s hips roll against the mattress, and Louis bites his lip as he brings his other hand to Harry’s bum. His arms are burning so much with pain that he now truly believes he is a masochist as he slips his other hand in Harry’s pants, clutching one of his butt cheeks and squeezing. 

Harry twitches and shakes, coming with a long, throaty moan in his hand. He buries his face in Louis’ neck, laying completely still. Louis kisses his shoulder and brings his hand out from his pants, licking drops of cum off his hand as he tries to memorise how he tastes.

Harry turns and crushes their lips together in a hot kiss. Then he sighs against Louis and pulls him closer, wrapping him in another heartfelt embrace. 

They don’t speak another word. 

* * *

"Play me your song again," Harry says, watching from his spot on the bed as Louis packs his shit. 

"I can do that," Louis smiles over his shoulder, throwing a pair of joggers into his suitcase.

Relieved to have a reason to stop filling it, he goes to get Niall’s guitar. Instead of taking his usual guitar-playing spot on the armchair, he joins Harry on the bed, craving being close to him for this. He starts strumming the guitar. 

"I love you," Harry says, kissing his shoulder before bedding his head against it. 

"I love you." Louis kisses the top of Harry’s head before clearing his throat and inhaling a short breath. "_ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile. Whichever way the wind is blowing… I like the way this is going, _" he sings, softer this time, closing his eyes. 

Harry’s head is a steady weight on his body. His fingers find the right chords without him having to think about it. As he sings the next verse, he starts to hate the song with his gut. He was so oblivious back then, oblivious to how it would all turn out in the end. He was naive to think that his love could, if not fix Harry’s life, make it more bearable somehow.

Louis thinks his love is what is going to kill him. He heaves through the song, the words painful on his tongue. "_ I don't care about the past, none of it was made to last, it's not who you've known, but who you're knowing _ ," he swallows, new tears burning behind his closed lids, " _ I like the way this is going… I like the way this is going _," he ends the song, noticing the irony. 

"You know…" Louis starts slowly, the words rolling off his lips carefully as the last chord is played and silence surrounds them. "I really don’t like how this is going anymore." 

Harry laughs — actually fucking laughs. The sound is like a laughing gas. Louis is inhaling it, effected by it too and begins chuckling along before falling into a laugh that feels wrong coming from his chest, sounds wrong in his ears, and yet both of them are laughing maniacally because _ hell _, this cannot be happening. Everything has turned to insanity in twenty-four short hours. Fuck it. Louis laughs because they have cried too much today already. 

"_ Fuck _ ," Harry wheezes, " _ fuck _ , I _ can’t— _" he shakes his head, curling in on himself, laughing hysterically. 

"I- I… s-should re-write this fucking song," Louis gets out between laughter. "_ I don’t like how this is going _ ." He starts strumming the guitar, giggling. He heaves, huffing, then starts singing, his voice wavering with giggles, " _ I like your toothy smile, it never fails to beguile. Whichever way the wind is blowing… I really fucking hate the way this is going. _" 

Harry erupts into another row of laughter, clutching his stomach as his teary, crinkled eyes glance at Louis. 

"_ I don’t fucking like how this is going, _ " Louis sings, plucking the strings, " _ I love your smile but not this way, lets run, baby, run, just you and me. Let’s run away. _" He stops playing the guitar, wiping tears of laughter off his cheeks and sighing high through his nose. Harry is still a giggling mess beside him. 

"_ If I could fly… _ " Harry croons, chuckling and righting himself again, " _ Well, I can’t even walk anymore. If I could walk this earth, I’d run right back to you… _" 

"Fuck," Louis sobers, rubbing his knuckles over his eyelids, "play it for me, will you? Please?" 

Harry sobers too, sitting up next to him and taking the guitar, "fine…okay."

His skilled fingers find the right strings perfectly. The sad tone of Harry’s song is more fitting than Louis’ light summer love tune.

Louis sighs, gets comfortable, and watches Harry play. 

"_ If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you, _ " Harry sings softly, his hair falling into his face, framing it beautifully. " _ I think I might give up everything, just ask me to. Pay attention, I hope that you’re listening, 'cause I let my guard down. Right now I’m completely defenceless... _" 

Louis’ eyes fill with tears. He sniffs. 

"_ For your eyes only, I’ll show you my heart. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart. Now you know me, for your eyes only… _" 

Harry’s song hits hard. Louis folds his arms around his stomach, his fingers digging into his flanks as he tries to hold himself together. He sniffs again, and when Harry looks at him, his eyes are teary too. For a moment only the sound of the guitar fills the room. 

"_ I can feel your heart inside of mine, I feel it, I feel it, I’ve been going out of my mind, I feel it, I feel it. Know I’m just wasting time. And I hope that you don’t run from me… _" 

"Harry," Louis whimpers when Harry has finished the song.

Harry puts the guitar by his side and kisses his cheek. 

"Everything will be fine, because I gave you my heart. So in a way I’ll be living with you… you know? Like my memory will stay with you, my heart belongs to you, Louis," Harry murmurs, kissing him again then pulling him close. "Remember me, okay? Don’t forget me." 

"I love you."

"I love you too." 

They kiss and cry, and it truly feels like a goodbye.

  
  


* * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again, i hope you enjoyed chapter 17 - it's coming slowly to an end which is so odd to me haha, three chapters to go. I want to mention again, that there is a happy ending, but this is also a ghost au and I truly committed to the ghost aspect of things. anyway! thank you so much for reading, kudos and comments are SO welcome. 
> 
> stay safe! love youuuu guys x


	18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to say goodbye...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys, I hope you are safe!!! 
> 
> about Harry's plans for their date night, I wanted to tell you, BUT I kinda have a better idea what to do with it now, sooo if it's alright, I'd like to keep quiet about it for a bit longer? Thank you guys SO MUCH for your amazing comments - I feel so much joy reading them!! i looove you, thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> well, 
> 
> I am...kind of...nervous about this chapter, it was so fun to write, but a real challenge at the same time. A MASSIVE thank you goes, as always, to [Serena](https://tempolarriefix.tumblr.com/) ilysm! x 
> 
> WARNING: this is going to be an intense chapter! 
> 
> that all said, please, enjoy x

* * *

Louis’ suitcase, duffle bag, and Niall’s guitar are all loaded in his shitty car. He slams the door shut, glancing back at the house, set in darkness. The only light source is the moon, which has already lost a bit of its fullness, and the faint gleaming from the foyer that is streaming out of the open front door. 

If Louis had known back then, when he first carried all those boxes inside, that he would find the love of his life living behind those walls… well, he doesn’t know what he would have done, honestly. But maybe he would have cherished their time together more, memorised Harry until there was no chance that he’d forget any detail of him, ever. Harry had given him his leatherbound journal as a farewell gift, saying he wouldn’t need it wherever he will be going now. It is placed on top of Louis’ cheap dollar store notebook on his passenger seat. The new journal that Louis had bought as a goodbye gift to Harry is tucked in his suitcase — it would have been too sad to give it to Harry now that he won’t be able to use it. Louis vows to fill it with their memories, to ensure that Harry won’t ever be forgotten and his story will be told to the world. 

Louis stays outside for another breath before forcing his legs to move. 

The inside of the house is warm, cozy even. It’s all a facade, though. The house has never felt colder to Louis. He doesn’t want to leave. 

The others are gathered in the living room. 

Zayn is preparing for his spell, setting candles out on every possible surface. An old, heavy-looking leatherbound book is open on the coffee table. 

Liam is helping him, drawing a ring of salt around the walls of the room. Louis wonders briefly for what it is for, but then again, does it matter? He knows what they are up to.

Harry is standing by the couch, looking fragile and out of place, young and scared. He has his arms wrapped around his middle, watching Liam spread the salt. As if he can sense Louis in the doorway, his eyes find him and a tiny smile creeps onto his lips, his dimples appearing. Harry reaches out for him and Louis’ heart turns to mush. He doesn’t have to be asked twice. He steps into Harry’s arms and they both ignore the other two boys working around them. 

Louis breathes in Harry’s faint smell, taking comfort in his body heat. He plants a kiss on Harry’s shoulder before standing on his tiptoes and kissing Harry’s jaw. 

Harry smiles, brushing through Louis’ hair and cupping the nape of his neck. He draws him in for a quick, too short kiss before sighing and hooking his chin on Louis’ shoulder, holding him close. 

There is a rustling sound coming from upstairs. Something rumbles and Louis frowns, peeking at the doorway as footsteps come down the stairs. His heart starts pounding. He is sure that Harry can feel it, or at least that he notices Louis stiffen in his arms, because he checks to see what has caught Louis’ attention. 

"Fuck…" Louis breathes, fisting his hair as Matt and Jay come to the hallway, Matt continuing on to carry a tiny suitcase outside. 

They hadn’t told him what was going on. Jay had only informed him that there was a weird kind of bug which had infected the house so they had to leave for the night. He bought into it easily, trusting Jay blindly.

Jay lingers behind, staring at Louis and jerking her head sideways towards the door. 

"I’m not ready," Louis murmurs, breaking eye contact with her. 

"Yeah," Harry says, probably at a loss for words that could make this situation any easier on them, too. "I’ll join you outside." 

"You can’t," Zayn chimes in, throwing them a quick look from his place on the ground, his nose buried in the vintage book. 

Louis frowns at him. "Why not?" 

Zayn’s lips twitch as if to smile, but Harry shakes his head, tugging on Louis’ hand. They walk to the door, Louis slipping in front of Harry in the hallway. His fingers slip out of Harry’s grip, and he looks behind him to see why. 

Harry is standing in the doorway of the living room, his eyes squinting and his forehead knitted with deep furrows.

"What?" Louis asks. "What’s the matter?" 

"I can’t…" He lifts his foot, trying to move it forward, but it looks as if he is stuck behind an invisible wall. Helplessly, he looks at Louis with wide eyes. "Uhm…" 

"You can’t leave this room now, H. That’s what the salt is for. All spirits, ghosts, and demons will be trapped in this room so that we can… you know," Liam explains. 

Louis’ shoulders hunch. He walks back to Harry, stepping over the line of salt and giving it a dirty look before directing his glare at Zayn. "Could have told us," Louis says. 

"Hm, could have," Zayn shrugs. "Now you know anyways." 

Louis’ chest expands with a balloon of air, ready to tell Zayn his opinion, but Harry shakes his head, muttering _ 'leave it' _. 

Louis turns to him and his heart sinks as he looks into those green eyes. Fuck. This is the last time he will get to see him. The realisation dawns on him, seeps into his pores, crawls underneath his skin and twists his gut. Sudden tears spill over the rims of his eyes and his bottom lip trembles as he takes Harry’s hands in his. 

"If I could fly," Louis murmurs. "I’d come with you now… wherever you’ll be going." He swallows thickly. "You told me not to forget about you, Harry… but please, wherever your new home will be, don’t forget me either, okay?" He blinks up at him, teary-eyed and heartbroken.

Harry is already crying too, nodding and bringing their lips together in a wet kiss. One of his hands holds the back of Louis’ head while the other clings to Louis’ own, Harry’s so much larger than his. 

"I love you," Harry murmurs, kissing him again. "I love you," he repeats. They exchange wobbly smiles, then Harry darts out his tongue and licks Louis’ nose. Louis can’t help but smile wider, though more watery than before. "Remember?" Harry grins. 

"As if I could forget," Louis says, his nose cold and wet. He scrunches it upward. "I love you." 

"I love you." 

"I love you." 

"Okay..." Zayn sighs, interrupting one of their last moments together, "I’m sorry to be that guy. You hate me enough already, but… Louis, it’s time. Midnight is coming closer and…" he trails off, waving an airy hand. 

They look at each other. Louis tries to suck in every detail, from the glossiness of his eyes to his little mole on his cheek, to the way his hair is curled and very soft — so soft, so, so bloody soft. Fuck. Louis sobs, burying his face into Harry’s chest while Harry cries into the crown of Louis’ head.

"Thank you, Louis, for giving me the best weeks of my entire existence," Harry whimpers. 

"Guys," Zayn threatens, his voice pressed. 

"I love you," Louis says. "I love you. Always. Forever." 

They kiss. 

They kiss for the last time. 

Louis can’t. 

He can’t process this. 

Zayn stands up and Louis has no other choice than to squeeze Harry’s hand one last time before he is escorted outside. Zayn’s stern act falls apart when Louis starts sobbing, hearing Harry’s weeping coming from the living room. 

Zayn pulls him into a hug once they reach the driveway. "I’m sorry, Louis," he says. "I know Harry isn’t like any other ghost. I know that now, and I am so sorry. If it weren’t for the demon, I’d let it go. Please know that. I’m your friend, okay? Please.” Louis nods, Zayn clears his throat, “eh, I summoned my mother earlier for help with the spell and she told me the real reason why I was forbidden from going into this house. I always thought it was because of Harry, but it’s not. It’s because of that witch demon thing. I am so sorry, so _ sorry, _ Louis." Zayn rubs his back. His voice is gentle, but it does absolutely nothing to comfort Louis whatsoever. 

Whether Zayn believes Harry is innocent now or not, it doesn’t matter. He will go through with his plan nonetheless. There is no going back from this. It’s the end. Louis is shaking. 

At last Louis pulls out of the embrace, rubbing a hand over his wet face. "Be careful," he murmurs, fixing his gaze on Zayn’s jaw rather than looking into his eyes, knowing he will see pity there. 

“I will.” 

There is nothing left to say. Therefore, without further words, he turns abruptly and stalks to his car, his shoulders curled forward and his heart heavy yet empty. 

He doesn’t look at his parents before scooting into the driver’s seat and turning his keys, starting the engine. The car rattles and puffs before jumping to life at last, though Louis wishes it wouldn’t have. For a long moment, he is unable to hit the pedal. He stares back at the house, watching Zayn go back indoors. Zayn waves, then the door shuts. Louis heaves a big breath. 

He turns back around and drives through the open gate. His parents’ car follows him, the headlights blinding in the mirror, preventing him from seeing the house a final time.

Louis won’t be joining Matt and Jay at the hotel. Everyone, including Harry, had thought it would be better for Louis to drive to Bristol straight away and not come back to this house until after the pain had subsided. Louis doesn’t think that will ever happen, though. His heart rips apart as he hits the gas pedal, bringing distance between him and that house. 

By the time he drives onto the main street, his eyes are leaking endless tears and his vision has blurred. He sobs, clutching his stomach with his arm. His body feels like it has been torn in two from the inside out. Sickness engulfs him and bile rises up his throat. He can’t do this. He swallows thickly, his Adam apple bobbing around the knot in his throat. 

It’s too much. Sadness overpowers him. His lungs clench violently and he chokes. 

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe. 

He sniffs loudly, wiping snot off his upper lip. This is too much. Everything. Harry. His love for this fucking boy. What has Harry done to him? Does love have to hurt this much? It has ripped his heart in half with such force that a scream leaves his mouth, sounding close to a dying goat, high and awful even to his own ears. Louis screams again, hitting the steering wheel. 

Pain shoots up his arm, but he grits his teeth and hits it again. And again. He screams, loud, throaty, and hoarse. He cries, and not only for his loss. He cries for Amber too, the little girl who died too soon, died tragically at the punishing hands of her parents. He cries for Harry whose heart is too big for his chest, who wrote him a song, who made him laugh and feel more than he ever has in his short life. Harry, who never had it easy, died when he thought he would be freed — prison probably would have been more bearable than his family. Harry, who was tortured and punished for eating strawberries. Harry, who was with his sister when she died. Harry, who doesn’t deserve this. Harry, who only wanted to be loved, finding even the most dangerous monster loveable. 

Louis rubs his fingers over his eyelids, clearing his blurred vision. He glances to the side, catching a glimpse of Harry’s journal and whimpering pathetically. 

Harry will die alone in the house with nobody that loves him as much as Louis does. 

Louis can’t. He can’t bear it. His chest heaves as he glances into the mirror, seeing Matt’s car still behind him. He checks the street. They are now close to the town. Louis can spot the shadow of the welcome sign in the distance. His chest tightens. Headlights beam from ahead, blinding him for a moment as another car speeds past him. His heart jumps to his throat and he grips the steering wheel tightly, turning onto the opposite road. He pulls backwards, then speeds the car past his parents. 

Louis hits the gas pedal. 

He can’t let Harry die alone. 

It cannot be too late. 

He checks the time — it’s a quarter to twelve. He can make it. He chews on his lip as he frantically wipes away tears that just won’t stop spilling over. He blinks into the darkness, checking the mirror again. Fortunately, his parents aren’t behind him, which lifts a stone from his chest. He takes a left, driving through a bit of forest before he sees the gate, already left open. 

His entire body is under an electric buzz as he hits the brake in the driveway, coming to an abrupt halt. Before he can second-guess anything, he jumps out of the car, jogging to the house and unlocking the door with shaking fingers. 

Swallowing, he strides through the hallway to the living room. When he reaches the doorway, he is panting like he has just run a mile. 

"I can’t," he says. 

Three heads turn toward him, but he concentrates only on Harry, who stares at him like he has seen a ghost before his expression brightens. Louis is quick to step towards him, slamming his body against Harry’s, making them stumble backwards. He shakes his head. 

"Harry, I just couldn’t — I was on the way, I swear, but then I saw… I saw your journal and… I saw it and I couldn’t… I—" he stops his rambling, runs out of air, all sweaty and worked up. "I couldn’t let you just… die here alone." 

"Louis, you’re an idiot," Harry shakes his head, a fond smile tugging on his lips. 

"Yeah, you fucking are, Louis," Zayn snaps, having none of it. "This is too dangerous. Liam will be going in a few minutes too." 

Louis ignores him, fixated on Harry only. "Don’t send me away," he begs. "Just let me stay with you until…" 

Harry nods, blinking his teary eyes. "Okay," he says, his voice hoarse but familiar and still here and _ oh god. _

Louis cups the nape of Harry’s neck, bringing his head down and catching his lips with his. They both smile, bittersweet. Louis feels like he has won something, yet he will lose Harry in fifteen short, awful minutes. He clenches his eyes tightly shut. He has fifteen more wonderful minutes with Harry. 

"Sweet," Zayn deadpans as they part. "You both are idiots. Fine, you know what? Okay… just stay out of my way. I really don’t have time for this." He waves a hand around, not even looking at them. 

Harry grins. Louis returns it and tugs Harry to the couch, guessing it’s the last spot Zayn would use and they will be out of his way. Harry wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Louis snuggles into his body and sighs, his tears finally having come to a halt. 

Liam sends Louis a sad look, then glances to the clock. Louis follows his gaze and starts chewing on his bottom lip. Ten minutes left. 

He puts his hand on Harry’s thigh, stroking up and down. He stops only to start drawing little hearts over the dark fabric of his jeans. Harry kisses his forehead, snaking his hand past Louis’ neck and caressing his jawline with a ghostly touch. Louis closes his eyes. 

_ Five minutes left. _ Liam says his goodbye to Harry, telling him that he hopes he will get to a better place now. Louis’ heart drums in his chest. His legs start jiggling as his nerves kick in. 

_ Three minutes left. _ Zayn sighs at him, finally done with drawing chalk symbols on the floor. Honestly, Louis is glad that his mother isn’t seeing him doing this. He hopes he will be smart enough to clean it before she returns home tomorrow. Harry kisses his temple, his fingers cradling Louis’ chin and bringing them together for a kiss. Louis hums, his Adam’s apple vibrating. 

_ Two minutes left. _ Louis holds Harry’s hand tightly wrapped in his. His leg hasn’t stopped jiggling. His body is on fire. Harry looks like an angel. Louis hopes that Liam is right and paradise is awaiting Harry. Maybe he will meet Kurt Cobain. 

_ One minute left. _ Zayn urges them to get up and orders them to stand behind the couch. He pushes the coffee table into the sofa and claps his hands. Nervousness flashes over his face for the first time and Louis’ chest heaves. It can’t be a good sign. He hasn’t seen Zayn nervous, ever. 

It’s midnight. Just as the time changes, the door flies open and slams with a bang against the wall, causing them to all startle and jump around. Louis’ first thought is _ 'well shit, that was fast'. _ Then, he spots his mother rushing towards him and his eyes widen. 

"Louis, I can’t believe you!" she fumes. 

"Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have time for this now," Zayn says calmly. "I advise you to leave." 

"You’re coming with me, Louis. Now," Jay snarls at him, putting her hands on her hips. 

Louis steps closer to Harry. 

She huffs. 

"Okay, guys, I need silence now. It’s time." 

_ It’s time. _

Louis swallows. When he brings his eyes up to Harry, he finds him already looking down at him. Harry smiles. It’s a sad smile.

"Thank you," he whispers in Louis’ ear. "Thank you for your song, for your time, for your love." 

Louis’ eyes sting. He murmurs, _ 'I love you' _before Zayn shoots them another glare and orders Jay to stand in the hallway. He can’t make Louis leave Harry’s side, but he at least can do something to protect her. She protests, of course she does, trying to catch Louis’ eyes. He avoids her gaze, looking at the ground. She will be so mad at him later, but they can deal with that once all of this is over.

It takes a few minutes of her arguing with Zayn, but in the end, Zayn holds his ground, not intimidated by her glare and curses. He wins with the argument that she is pregnant and has to think about her unborn baby. Louis is glad about that. It’s enough that one of them is an idiot. 

Zayn rolls his shoulders and kneels in front of the coffee table, like he had been doing when Louis first came in to say his goodbye to Harry. He lifts his arms with his palms turned upward, reminding Louis of a priest he saw on telly saying vows. His eyes dart to Harry, who nods, his arm drawing Louis more into his side. Zayn directs his gaze to the book, his brows furrow thickly in dark concentration. 

Nobody says a word, nor breathes. Everyone’s attention is fixed on the boy kneeling on the floor. 

"_ Et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non comprehenderunt _ ," Zayn murmurs in a deep, calm voice. Suddenly, every candle is on fire, setting the room in a glowing light. " _ Lux veritatis, et luceant super nos _," he murmurs the slurred Latin words under his breath, the candles artfully casting a dark orange shadow over his skin. 

For a long moment, nothing happens. Apparently it’s not normal because Zayn checks around, a burst of nerves flashing over his face before he blinks at the book once more. Louis hears Harry swallow. 

"_ Spirituum in domo hac _ ," Zayn whispers. A vacant look settles over his features and his eyes stare straight ahead, empty and lifeless. " _ Et veni maneat _."

Louis gulps. 

Nothing happens. 

Zayn’s head rolls back. "_ Spirituum in domo hac, et veni maneat! _ " he says, louder, his voice forceful. " _ Spirituum in domo hac, et veni maneat! _" 

The lights go out at once, setting them in darkness. Louis grabs Harry’s hand and they share an apprehensive look. 

"_ Spirituum in domo hac, et veni maneat! _" Zayn murmurs. The candles catch light again, the flames higher than before. 

Wind starts swirling around them, tearing at their clothes and Louis hides his face in Harry’s chest. Harry is shaking in his arms as the wind devours their bodies, swallowing every noise. It reminds Louis of a day at the beach when a storm was coming and they had to be quick to pack their things. 

"_ Nunc autem venit _!" Zayn screams. Louis glimpses at him and watches in horror as the boy lifts off the ground, floating high in the air, his head still rolled back and his arms lifted in front of his body, palms up and open.

The wind turns into a storm, whirling around them.

"_ Spirituum in domo hac, et veni maneat! Nunc autem venit! _" Zayn exclaims. He falls to the ground with a dull plop, his knees knocking on the floor. 

The wind stops altogether. 

Louis releases a breath that he had held trapped in his chest in fear. 

"_ Nunc autem venit, _" Zayn murmurs. When he blinks his eyes, they look more full of life again. Zayn swallows and nods to himself before checking in the book and nodding again. He closes his eyes before he mutters the next part of the spell under his breath. 

Louis notices that they aren’t alone any longer.

Amber runs over to Harry, who blinks, perplexed, as she takes his hand in his. She smiles up at him and Louis hears Harry’s thick swallow before he returns the smile, his lips quivering. Harry’s hold on Louis tightens. Amber smiles at Louis around her brother’s torso and Louis reciprocates it with shaky lips. 

His attention is drawn to the side as the girls from the pub appear out of thin air, standing by the bookshelf, giggling. When Louis catches their eyes, one of them winks at him. He shakes his head, bringing his focus to a couple that he hasn’t seen before but recalls from the picture album. Then, another couple shows up and he feels Harry tensing by his side.

"My parents," he says under his breath.

The couple stares at them without much emotion. They both have long brown hair, and Harry’s father has a beard. Louis resists the urge buzzing in his bones to go over and kill them again. Amber presses further against Harry’s leg as she spots them too. Harry waves at them, then flips them off. Their expression turns sour, as if they only just realised who they are in front of. 

Others arrive too, some faces Louis faintly remembers from the pub and others from the photo album. There are still others that he has never seen before. They are all gathered together in the living room, and although it’s spacious, it's a tight fit. But they have no other choice, the salt blocking any possible way out. 

Zayn stands up, his eyes roaming over the crowd. He swallows, pulling a face at Louis. "There are so many more than I thought, oh god..." he says, tugging on his lip. He closes his eyes and shakes his entire body as if to warm up. "Fine, I can do this," Zayn murmurs, but he sounds less confident than he had before. 

Zayn folds himself back on the ground and presses his hands together. "It’s coming now, I’m calling it," he says, his eyes shut. For a moment, Louis is confused, before it dawns on him what he is referring to. He glances at Harry who looks around, his body trembling. Louis rubs a soothing hand over his spine, only noticing now how nervous Harry is. 

He exhales shortly and kisses Harry’s neck, which brings Harry out of it. Harry visibly relaxes a bit, putting his hand on the small of Louis’ back. 

"Ready?" Zayn asks, directed at them. 

Louis’ eyes fill with tears but he blinks them away. "I love you," he says to Harry one last time. 

"I love you," Harry replies, his voice breathy and tight. 

Zayn nods at them. "I’m sorry for doing this. Really, I am. Goodbye, Harry," he says and goes back to his previous position, speaking another row of words Louis doesn’t understand. 

“_ Satanam aliosque spiritus, veni, veni, veni _.”

Louis presses more into Harry’s body while he still can. 

Suddenly, it happens. The candle lights start to flicker and the windows tremble, the floor vibrating under their feet like an earthquake is upon them. 

Harry holds onto Louis too and out of nowhere, the demon appears, bringing icy coldness as it sits, squatting on the ground by Harry’s parents. Its wide, insane eyes look from Harry to Louis before fixating on him only. It tilts its head to the side, a creepy smile stretching on its face. Its rattling breath is the only sound in the room of ghosts and death. 

Louis’ arms start burning and his heart races as it lays eyes upon him, creeping slowly forward. It lifts its head, sticking its nose upward as if to sniff, then it bobs its head side to side. Amber runs from Harry to Louis’ side and Louis’ hand finds hers blindly. She whimpers and Louis squeezes her fingers, but he can’t bring his eyes to look anywhere but at her, mesmerised. 

"_ Satanam aliosque spiritus, ne quoquam exsurgatis, _" Zayn murmurs. 

The thing comes closer, closer, closer until it hops onto the couch. Harry tugs Louis backward and his feet stumble over the rug. Louis feels hot, sweat breaking out of his pores as it stares at him. 

"_ Satanam aliosque spiritus, ne quoquam exsurgatis, _" Zayn’s voice starts to sound frantic as he hisses more and more words.

All of the ghosts are still present. Harry puts his hands over Louis’ eyes, breaking his eye contact with the demon. Louis feels his lips press and linger on the top of his head. Louis swallows.

"Don’t look at her," Harry whispers, then lets his hand fall from Louis’ vision. Before Louis gets another glimpse of her staring at him, he concentrates on the floor. Harry’s shoes are much larger than his and why is he noticing that only now? It should be a given since Harry is tall but still — 

"_ Satanam aliosque spiritus. Exorcizámos te, ómnis immúnde spíritus, ómnis satánic potéstas, ómnis infernális adversárii, ómnis légio, ómnis congregátio et sécta diabólica, in nómine et virtúte Dómini nóstri Jésu Chrísti _—" Zayn stops abruptly. "Guys…" he says, his eyes apologetic. "I made a mist—" 

He has no time to react.

The demon jumps on him in one big whoosh, wrapping its legs and arms around his body. The force of it brings them both crashing to the floor in a mess of limbs. Louis’ head bangs against the ground and for a moment he can’t see anything, can’t move, can’t breathe. Pain zips from the back of his head down to his neck and shoulders and blooms at his spine. His fingers, wrapped around Harry’s only seconds ago, clench helplessly around thin air. 

The floor is moving underneath him. No, that’s not right — he is being _ dragged _ over the floor. Its breath rattles directly in his ear as it pushes them forward. Louis presses his arms against the ground but can’t put a stop to it. Pain blooms on his neck where its nails dig into his skin and he presses his eyes shut as it holds him tightly to its front. 

"_ Nobody fucking move _!" Zayn’s voice booms from somewhere. 

Louis blinks his eyes open, his vision blurry as he looks at its gruesome grinning face. 

_ "You," _ a voice says inside his head, clear and high pitched.

He groans.

_ "You, you, you, you, you, you." _ This is followed by a laugh that splits Louis’ brain in two.

He presses his hands against his ears, but it does nothing. His head is set on fire, a flame zipping through his insides. 

His stomach feels like it has been ripped open. The pain is unbearable. He can’t breathe, though his lungs scream desperately for air. His head is pounding as if it’s threatening to explode, and a silent scream forces his lips apart. It hurts; it hurts so badly.

His slackened mouth fills with cotton, or at least that is what it feels like. His tongue swells to double its size. Louis has no idea what is going on but he feels something press his tongue down into his teeth, forcing his jaw open even wider until it gives an ominous crack. 

He can’t move his jaw, close his mouth, spit it out, or do anything but press his eyes shut. Behind his closed lids, little white spots form in the dark as his mind goes dizzy with pain. Then, his Adam’s apple bobs and he gags as something forces its way down his throat. It feels like he has swallowed a bone and now it’s stuck in his larynx. Louis tries to swallow it down and tries to spit it out again, his Adam’s apple working forcefully, but it doesn’t budge an inch. It sits there, threatening to choke him as his body is overcome with another hot wave of agony and sweat. 

Acid swirls in his burning stomach, cauterising the walls of his insides as if he has drunk bleach. The rock-like thing that is sitting in his throat moves further down. He feels it fill out his airways, his oesophagus. It’s everywhere to the point where his head feels too small, his body too tiny for whatever it is that is trying to force its way into him. His organs are pushed to the side, and everything clenches from his heart to his stomach, uncontrolled and painful. He would scream if he could, but he can’t. He can’t do anything. It’s too much, too big, too painful. He is dying. If one thing is clear, it’s that this is his end. He just wants to die just so that the pain will subside. 

Louis struggles, his fingers scratching over the floor, seeking desperately something to hold onto. 

"_ No! _" he hears someone yell. He thinks it’s Harry, but he can’t be sure. An unbearable scream fills his ears. His eardrums start ringing and finally they pop and he hears everything from as if it is all far away, like he’s underwater or wearing earplugs. 

His fingers slip from the floor and his body is lifted from the ground by an invisible force. His eyes, which were shut just a second ago, rip open, and he stares unblinkingly at the ceiling. He is unable to move his head, his jaw still hanging open. He watches in horror as a black fog surrounds him, holding his limp body floating in the air. The fog is coming out of his mouth. His arms sway lifelessly by his sides. His body is set on fire. It hurts.

Louis wants to close his eyes and make it all go away, but he can’t. Slowly, he realises through the veil in his mind that the black heavy fog isn’t coming _ out _ of his mouth. It is trying to get _ into _ him. 

Voices are coming from afar, sounding as panicked as he feels. 

With a hair-raising whoosh, the fog is sucked completely into him and a scream, high and awful, leaves his mouth, though he can’t remember screaming, can’t remember having the energy left to do so. The scream sounds inhuman. 

His stomach is set alight with burning pain and in that moment, his body crashes back to the ground, his head banging against the floor. His vision blurs, then darkens completely. Footsteps vibrate beneath him on the floor boards. 

"_ Harry no! _" 

For a moment, nothing happens. Louis blinks at Harry as his pale, panicked face hovers over his own, his vision blurred as if Louis is underwater trying to see him through the surface. The second Harry’s finger touches his cheek, it happens: another scream leaves his mouth, high and loud. Harry presses his hands over his ears, his face clenched. 

Louis curls in on himself in pain. A voice starts chanting in another language in his head, the words slurred together. The chanting stirs another wave of terror within him and he writhes on the floor, trying to find relief. It doesn’t come, he is _ burning _ alive.

His lips part for another scream, but no sound comes out as his throat is ripped in half. He gasps for air, but can’t suck in any oxygen. He can’t breathe. It’s too much. He can’t breathe. He can’t. It’s too much. He can’t — 

His body goes stiff, his muscles tensing and his fingers clenching around nothing. His back straightens, pressed to the ground as he stares straight ahead, not seeing anything through the thick fog that is trying to get inside his mind, take him over, possess him. He grinds his teeth. 

His legs extend and his toes flex in his shoes. So do his fingers, like he is frozen on the spot, having been turned to an ice cube. He blinks frantically. He chokes. His lips are wet. A white ringing noise sounds in his ears and foam forms in his mouth. His body is thrashing with pain, his frame trembling, his head banging against the ground. Everything turns blurry, then the world goes completely black. 

_ 'I told you that you’d end up like him. Like Johnny…' _ the demon’s voice hisses inside his head with an audible lisp. ' _ You should have stayed away, like Amber does… Yesterday I didn’t succeed, but today... today is my day.' _

Louis groans, not understanding anything that is going on. He is trapped in darkness. At least there is no pain anymore. Still, he feels close to giving up, his thoughts slipping past him. He is dizzy and weak. 

_ 'I warned you. It’s your own fault that you couldn’t stay away from my boy,' _ the haunting voice speaks again. _ 'Now Louis, there is nothing that you can do. Give up, just give up.' _

_ 'No,' _ Louis thinks back, feeling some of his will to fight returning at the words. Still, his thoughts feel dull and fuzzy. _ 'Never. I won’t let you get away with this.' _

Another hair-raising laugh rings through his head. _ 'Ah, ah — but you don’t have a choice. We can do this two ways, Louis. Either you give up or I’ll make you.' _

_ 'Fuck you.' _

_ 'Hm, _ ' it chuckles, _ 'well…' _

Louis clings as best as he can to the part that of him that is still awake, trying to keep his thoughts steady. He concentrates on that, and only on that, on the thought of seeing Harry again, protecting him, being there for him. He thinks of his mother, of his sister, Niall, their music, Perrie, Bristol, and Harry, _always Harry._ _Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. _

_ 'This won’t help, _ ' it hisses. _ 'Thanks for your body, though. Cheers.' _

He screams; it laughs.

* * * 

Everything is dark around Louis. He can’t feel his body anymore, can’t make out any noises. The feeling of being trapped causes panic to stir inside him, yet he doesn’t know where he is trapped inside. He can’t move his fingers nor his legs, not only because he doesn’t feel his body anymore but because he doesn’t have a body. 

A tiny bit of light gleams in the distance, like a lighthouse for sailors lost at sea. 

Louis pushes forward, slowly moving towards it. He doesn’t know how he is doing it, but something tells him it’s the right decision and the 'how' doesn’t matter as long as he keeps moving. 

Then, like someone opening the curtains in the morning, everything turns to light around him. Yes, Louis thinks, this is it. He propels himself forward faster. It starts to feel like he is being squeezed into a tight tube, and then he gets stuck. The light closes above him and — no, _ no _ bloody hell, _ he is not ready to give up. _

He wiggles, wiggles, and wiggles and finally the gap above opens, allowing him to make out the light once more. 

He moves towards it, and then a force pushes him out.

* * * 

The living room is still alight with the tiny flames of the million candles that Zayn had put up to do his ritual. The ghosts are still here, standing along the walls and surrounding the coffee table where Zayn’s book is still opened. Amber is standing by the sofa, hiding her face behind her hands. Her body is turned to the corner of the room and when she peeks through the gaps of her fingers, Louis follows her gaze. He frowns deeply when he sees Harry weeping on the ground. Zayn is kneeling next to him. From where Louis is, he can’t tell what they are leaning over. His gut tugs with the sense that he doesn’t want to find out, but his feet move to his friends anyway.

He sucks in a breath as he sees Vans on the ground through the gap between Zayn and Harry. They look familiar. Louis looks down at his own shoes. He is wearing the exact same pair that he sees in front of him on someone else’s feet. He swallows and drags his wobbly legs to Zayn and Harry, peeking over their shoulders. 

_ What? _

Louis blinks. He can’t quite process what he is seeing. In front of him, he sees himself, lying lifelessly on the ground.

His eyes wander to his hands and he stretches them out, wiggling his fingers. On the floor in front him, his body’s eyes are shut. His mouth is slightly parted and covered with drying white foam. Zayn is moving his cheeks from left to right, slapping them softly. 

Harry is crying, hard. 

Louis doesn’t understand.

"Guys?" he whimpers, his lips wobbling. His throat is closing in on itself. "Guys?"

Louis doesn’t _ understand _. 

He is right here. How can he be lying on the ground when he is standing between Zayn and Harry? Nobody looks up at him. They don’t pay him any attention, both focused on Louis’ body on the floor. 

They are talking, their lips are moving, but Louis can’t hear them over the buzzing in his ears. His heart is pounding loudly in his chest. 

"_ Guys! _" he whines, touching Harry’s trembling shoulder.

Harry doesn’t react. He’s speaking to Zayn, crying. Harry rubs his eyes, then crawls next to Louis’ head before lifting it with careful fingers and bedding it in his lap, his hands cupping Louis’ cheeks upside down as he leans over his face, tears wetting Louis’ skin. 

Louis stares, perplexed. His heart isn’t breaking for Harry yet. _ He is right here. _Can’t they… can’t they see him? 

Harry kisses Louis’ forehead, his lips moving soundlessly.

Then, all of the sounds and voices which had previously been absent come back to him. Louis flinches at the sudden, loud noises. 

"No… no, no…" Harry cries. "Please… Louis, please…" he weeps, bending his head forward as his hands cradle Louis’ face. He presses wet kisses all over Louis’ skin, his fingers shaking. 

"Harry," Zayn says in a warning hiss. He is no longer squatting, but now standing by Louis’ feet. "Harry…" he warns again. 

Louis doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t understand anything. But then he sees it too: his finger twitches on the ground. It’s a tiny movement, and if Louis hadn’t been staring at himself so hard he might have missed it. It happens again, but this time his hand clenches and unclenches. Harry sniffs, having noticed it too. 

"Louis?" he asks. "Louis, can you hear me?" He shares a helpless glance with Zayn. 

"Harry —" Zayn starts, but stops abruptly as a groan comes from Louis’ body on the ground.

This cannot be right, Louis thinks. He is standing right here. How can his body live on without him in it? It’s wrong, so wrong. Louis holds his breath as he sees himself shake his head a bit as if to clear his vision, then open his eyes. Something dark flashes over his face, then he groans again. 

"Louis!" Harry exclaims. "Don’t move too much, baby. We’ll get you help, right Zayn?" He glances at Zayn briefly before his green eyes return to Louis. When Zayn doesn’t answer, he does a double-take. "Zayn?" he asks, urging. 

Louis watches himself sit up slowly, his back hunched forward. He stretches out his arms, wiggling his fingers, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips before they press into a fine line. 

"Harry…" he hears himself say, "it’s okay." 

It’s not. It’s not okay. That’s when Louis figures out what has happened. He isn’t in his body… so if it’s not him who is smiling shakily at Harry, who is it? 

Realisation dawns on Louis and he takes a step towards them. Then he stops because _ fuck _, they can’t see him — why can’t they see him? Goddamn it. Louis’ heart starts pounding in his throat. His mouth runs dry as he watches Harry kiss his forehead again. 

It’s the demon. 

It took over his body. That is what that feeling was, what that fog meant. Fuck, fuck, _ fuck _. 

Louis turns his head, watching Zayn as he looks at Harry and his body on the ground. He isn’t smiling like Harry is, nor does he look relieved that Louis has woken up. No, his eyes are roaming over Louis’ body with a thoughtful expression. 

"Harry," Zayn interrupts again.

Harry looks at him briefly. The demon is staring at him out of Louis’ eyes, smiling with Louis’ lips all while Louis himself watches in fear from the sidelines. He is unable to step in, to shake Harry’s shoulders and ask, _ 'can’t you see it’s not me?' _

"This isn’t Louis," Zayn says.

Louis can’t help but jump in the air, fist pumping. Thank fuck Zayn is smart. Louis loves Zayn. Fuck, _ yes _. 

"What the fuck?" Harry says. Demon-Louis glares at Zayn, too. 

Zayn shakes his head and gets something out of his pocket. Demon-Louis hisses in Harry’s arms, the sound hoarse.

Zayn holds up a cross necklace. Harry’s eyebrows twitch in confusion. 

Louis swallows. As Zayn steps closer, the demon presses into Harry’s chest, trying to get away from the cross that Zayn is holding between his fingers. 

"Stop it," it growls, voice slightly shaking. "What are you doing? Stop it!" 

Harry blinks down at demon-Louis in his arms before looking up at Zayn. Slowly, realisation overcomes him too. His eyebrows twitch as it sinks in.

"Harry, what are you doing?" demon-Louis demands as Harry unwraps his arms from its stolen body. "Zayn is being stupid. I’m fine, I’m me. Harry, baby —" 

Louis grinds his teeth as he watches the demon grab for Harry’s hand, but fortunately Harry rips away from its grip. The demon turns its focus to Zayn, locking its all too familiar blue eyes on the cross. It’s weird for Louis to see his own facial expressions mirrored at him. It looks all wonky. Louis himself has never given anyone the kind of evil eye that is currently being directed at Zayn. 

Harry comes to stand next to Zayn, nearly stepping on Louis’ foot since he can’t see him. Louis moves to Harry’s other side, watching his expressions as the demon connects the puzzle pieces and accepts that it can’t pull this off. After all, Zayn knew right away. A sudden calmness settles over demon-Louis’ features before the demon smiles cockily. Louis wrinkles his nose in disgust. He hopes he won’t ever smile so arrogantly ever again. He wants to kick his own fucking face in. 

He watches demon-Louis lift an eyebrow and bring its legs to its chest. It leans its upper body back, supporting it by propping its hands on the ground and drawing its shoulders to its ears. Demon-Louis bobs its head side to side, its cocky smile turning more sharp before transforming completely into a creepy and insane one, its blue eyes staring lifelessly at Zayn before beaming at Harry. 

"Oh yes." It’s not Louis’ normal voice that leaves its mouth this time, but a deep, very inhuman one that stirs nausea in Louis’ stomach. "Ha," it barks in the same voice. It sounds demonic, that is the only way to describe it. "Well, that didn’t last very long," it purrs. "I wanted to have some fun before you guys found out, ts ts..." 

Harry stiffens next to Louis, finally coming to the full understanding of the situation.

"She possessed him," Harry whispers in shock. 

Louis’ heart shudders. His fingers find Harry’s hand, stroking softly over his thumb. Harry doesn’t react, unable to feel Louis’ touch. Louis wants to cry. This is awful. 

Demon-Louis grins sharply at Harry, letting out a deep, evil laugh. "I had this whole thing planned but, fuck, you just had to pick a feisty human, huh?" Demon-Louis shakes its head, an insane, sinister smile still on its lips. "I wanted to do it yesterday, thought it’d be perfect on a full moon. You’d be waiting for him, out of my way..." 

Louis gulps. 

"But," the deep, unsettling voice coming out of Louis’ mouth continues, "I wasn’t fast enough. Only five seconds more and I could have kissed him, could have given him the devil's kiss and joined you at that bloody lake that you won’t shut up about, eh?" Demon-Louis clicks its stolen tongue, grinning maniacally still. 

Harry takes a sharp inhale. 

"But of course, no. No, everyone had to play hero, right Zayn? I fucking hate your guts." 

Zayn holds the cross closer to demon-Louis’ face, and it backs away into the corner, its back pressed against the wall. Although a displeased expression shoots over its face, not a second later, its grin snaps back on its lips. 

Louis’ stomach turns. 

"You just had to interrupt and then make plans to banish Harry right away, huh?" Demon-Louis tuts, shaking its head slowly. "Of course tonight would be the only night I could get into Louis’ body if I wanted to be with Harry," it sighs, acting wistfully as it lets its eyes droop.

"You sick bastard!" Harry launches himself at demon-Louis.

Louis gasps in horror as he watches Harry strangle it on the ground.

"_ Bring him back! _" Harry growls. 

The deep voice laughs, it shaking its head back and forth. "No, no… he is already g-gone," demon-Louis giggles, a bit choked up. "And you can’t kill me, honey. You know that. I’ll just hop into that woman’s body in the h-hallway. When I go, he’ll go." 

Harry stops strangulating demon-Louis on the ground. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Louis can only see his back, his face turned towards demon-Louis’ body. Harry fists demon-Louis’ fringe and bangs his head against the wall. 

This is a horror show, Louis thinks, taking a step forward, stops and backtracking again because, _ hell _ , what can he do? _ Nothing _. He never felt so useless in his entire life. 

He checks over his shoulder, seeing his mother poke her head in the room. Her expression matches Louis’ feelings — _ panicked _ , _ shocked _ , _ shaken, confused _. She withdraws into the hallway, and Louis hears her crying. His heart clenches. 

"Keep it in place," Zayn says and Louis flinches, nearly having forgotten that he is still with them. "Take this," he says, handing Harry the cross necklace. The demon hisses as Harry wraps it around his hands, holding it tight. 

He lets the cross dangle in front of demon-Louis’ face. Harry nods at Zayn, who disappears into the hallway. Louis chews on his lip as Harry sits back on the ground, staring at demon-Louis. 

When Louis looks back at himself, he is overcome by another wave of shock as he sees that his blue eyes aren’t blue anymore. They are pitch black, even the whites of his eyes coloured in darkness. The demon heaves rattling breath through its gaping mouth as Harry keeps the cross directed at him. 

Louis starts pacing behind Harry’s back, his bones restless. He feels so fucking useless, trapped in limbo, with them but not with them at the same time. He wonders what he is now. He can’t be a ghost because the others would be able to see him. Zayn said he can see ghosts in general, but even he hasn’t seen him standing with them in the room. That leaves only one option based on what Louis understands: he is a spirit. Not a ghost, not a demon, not a human. He is less than a person and weaker than a ghost. If he is sure about one thing, it's that this isn’t good. Not good at all.

Harry starts crying again, sniffing weakly and his shoulders shaking as he dips his head to his chest and presses his thumb and index in either of his closed eyelids. The cross trembles where it's hanging in the air, the necklace cutting into Harry’s skin around his hand.

Louis stops pacing and crouches behind Harry, hooking his chin on his fragile shoulder and kissing his neck. Harry doesn’t notice, of course he doesn’t. He can’t feel Louis the way Louis feels his warmth pressed to his front. 

"I’m sorry," Louis whispers, his throat stinging with emotions. "I’m sorry that I was an idiot…" he sighs, pressing his nose between Harry’s shoulder blades. He closes his eyelids, not wanting to see his body sitting in that corner, staring at Harry with sinister black eyes when he can’t do anything to relieve any of Harry’s pain.

The demon starts whistling. "You know, Johnny was so much weaker than Louis," it says, its voice still deep and unlike Louis’ own.

Harry freezes when he hears Johnny’s name. He sniffs, wiping tears off his face and blinking at demon-Louis, who grins again. Why is the demon always fucking grinning?

"I tried to possess him, thought that way I could run off with you, but…" Demon-Louis shakes its head, slowly, black eyes never wavering away from Harry’s face. "Oh, he was a _ weakling _. I didn’t even make it inside his body. He just gave up, no fight inside him." 

"Shut up," Harry growls. 

"No," the demon snarls, baring Louis’ teeth like an angry dog. "No, I finally have a fucking voice. I’m gonna talk as much as I want!" It chuckles, shaking Louis’ head to itself. "This time I checked first whether this boy of yours would be strong enough…" It shrugs a single shoulder, pinching some of the fabric of Louis’ trousers. "He was strong. Still is…''

For a second, it looks like its black eyes are staring at Louis over Harry’s shoulder, but that cannot be true, right? Louis swallows, blinking in confusion at his stolen body in the corner.

"Well, my touch didn’t kill him like it killed Johnny." 

Shit. Is that why it disguised itself as Harry… to see if he was the right fit? That’s… Louis feels sick.

"I mean, I’m not really fussed about Johnny dying. He brought us apart, Harry, didn’t you see? He wanted to take you away from me, to run off with you…" Demon-Louis clicks its tongue. "See, if I couldn’t take his body, the least he could do for me would be to die. I fucking hated that kid," it huffs, grinning at Harry who is sitting in shock at hearing about his first boyfriend’s death.

Louis lays his hands on Harry’s shoulders, trying to comfort him. Of course, it doesn’t work, but perhaps Louis needs something to hold on to as well.

"I’m just too strong for any human to handle," the demon says, pride blooming on demon-Louis’ face. "No human can destroy me. Nobody can, and definitely not this Zayn person." 

There is a moment of tense silence, before the demon starts talking again.

"It’s not my fault, you see? It’s your fault, Harry, darling. You shouldn’t be so greedy. Aren’t I enough? Wasn’t I enough for you? I have tried to be there for you since you were bloody born. I listened to your sob stories, but _ no _. No, you had to go and find yourself a bloody boy, because I wasn’t pretty, was I?" demon-Louis shakes its head, in faux-disappointment. 

Harry stares at it, speechless. Demon-Louis licks over its teeth. 

"No, but you made me feel pretty until Johnny arrived. Then you were all over him like a fucking dog. And this new kid shows up with his bloody music — oh, it’s always _ music _ that gets you, isn’t it, Harry? You just had to fall in love _ again _ . I _ still _ wasn’t enough. I thought that once you died, finally we could be together, but you didn’t want that, did you? You never ever wanted _ me _. But now… maybe it doesn’t matter. Right, Harry?" Demon-Louis raises its eyebrows in question, but still, Harry remains silent, too stunned. 

It’s already a draining day as it is, Louis wishes Harry would have never found out the truth, not like that; not coming from _ Louis’ _ mouth. Not when Louis can’t be there for him as he should be able to. The expression on Harry’s face is absolutely heartbreaking. 

"I have Louis’ body now, Harry. Is that not enough? I got myself a body. Let’s put that cross down, baby. Put it down and we can walk out of here, yes?" Demon-Louis crawls on its knees towards Harry, who still can’t find the energy to move apparently. He is frozen on the spot. 

Where is Zayn when you need him? _ Goddamnit _.

Louis jumps off the ground, checking the hallway. It’s empty, there’s no trace of his mother, Zayn, Liam, or Matt. Where the fuck are they?

He goes back to the living room, where Harry and the demon are still on the ground. Demon-Louis is now sitting cross-legged in front of Harry, its fingers carefully trying to force Harry’s hand to open. 

"Zayn!" Louis screams, panicked. "Bloody hell. Zayn!" 

Nobody shows up.

Louis feels his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes flick to the sight in the corner of the room. Harry is staring into its black eyes as if the demon is hypnotising him. Is that possible? Jesus. 

Fuck that bloody question, everything in this fucking house is fucking possible. Louis shoots back to Harry’s side. 

Louis looks into his own eyes. Black meets blue and then Louis knows that the demon can see him. It grins at him with his own mouth. 

"Look at that," it drawls, grinning. This time its grin is directed at Louis. "Your boy is here too. He was a weak image for a bit, flickering but…" it shakes its head. "Hello, Louis." 

That seems to bring Harry out of his paralysed state. He blinks around, looking for Louis, but of course his green eyes stare right through him without him noticing Louis standing close to them. 

"Leave Harry alone," Louis grits, seeing himself smirk in return. It’s sickening, and so very wrong. "He doesn’t want you, don’t you fucking get it? After everything you have done to him, don’t you think he has had enough of you by now?" 

"Oh no," the demon replies, shaking its head. "You’ve got that wrong, boy. I did it _ for _ him." 

"You did it for yourself," Louis grunts back, crossing his arms. 

"Do you think I like your body? I don’t. You’re tiny, a tight fit. I want _ my _ body back, the way it was before they _ burned _ me! But I can’t have that now, can I? So I’m doing this for him." 

"Where are you, Lou?" Harry asks, voice only a broken whisper. “Where are you?” 

"I’m here," Louis replies, ignoring the demon’s snicker. "I’m here, baby." He kneels next to Harry, unseen. His hand hovers over Harry’s cheek, but he can’t bring himself to touch him. The demon’s black eyes are still upon him. It’s no use. 

Louis sighs, standing up and going to check in the hallway again. Where the hell has Zayn run off to? What is taking him so bloody long? What if the demon is going to assault Harry? None of the other ghosts would jump to help, that’s a given. 

Something zips through his body and he watches in shock as his own hands disappear and appear in front of his own eyes. The demon must have noticed, too, because it laughs. 

"I see that you’re losing your strength. Soon you’ll be gone like Johnny." 

"I won’t." Louis hopes he is right, but then he is surrounded by sudden darkness. The living room reappears shortly after, but Louis can’t help but think that the demon _ might _ be right.

He is starting to feel dizzy. There is something pulling at his mind, lulling him to sleep. He shakes his head, trying to get the fuzziness out of his brain as he walks over to Harry again. The demon looks at Louis with another grin. 

"You feel it already, don’t you? I do, too." it says, taunting. "The stronger I get, the weaker you get. It’s the way this works." 

Harry jumps to his feet at that and goes to the doorway. "Zayn!" he calls, but no reply comes. 

The demon is laughing breathily on the ground, the rattling sound coming from its mouth in pants. "Looks like it got a bit too much for him." 

Louis watches as Harry tries to kick through the line of salt, but his boot is stopped an inch away. He is unable to move more than that, unable to break through the spell. The other ghosts, including Harry’s parents and Amber, are standing still. They are all staring at the demon and at Harry, like they too have no idea what is actually going on.

Louis frowns. They have been standing like that for a while now, and the only two who were able to move around have been Harry and Amber. The others are stuck in the very same spot. He guesses that Zayn cast another spell upon them, probably figuring it’d be too dangerous to have a ghost party.

"Zayn!" Harry screams again, his voice hoarse and deep. 

"He can’t hear you, darling," the demon replies, flattening Louis’ back on the ground.

Harry ignores it and calls for Zayn over and over again.

Louis flickers in and out of the living room. 

He grinds his teeth. He is not ready to go just yet. If he can help it, he will fight the urge to sleep forever. He closes his eyes for a second and already feels so light and cozy. A part of him wants to let go, give it a rest, stop fighting against it, but then he hears Harry’s calls from far away, hears the panic in his voice. Louis bites on the inside of his cheek, concentrating only on Harry and the noises. 

When he opens his eyes, some time must have passed because Zayn is now in the room with them again. He shakes himself out of it and watches with lifted brows as another man hurries through the door. Louis has never seen him before. He is old with white, fine hair covering his round head and wrinkles carved into his skin. He is wearing all black. 

"Where is it?" he asks in a gruff voice. Zayn points to Louis’ body, which sits up with a surprised expression.

"Oh no, you didn’t, Zaynie," the demon coos. "A priest, that is cute." 

A priest. That man is a fucking priest. Louis is going to fucking faint.

"Be quiet, demon," the priest snaps, coming to stand next to Harry who is again holding the cross in the air, directed at the demon in Louis’ body. 

"Uh huh," demon-Louis grins widely. "I’m so scared. You christened folks can’t leave it alone, can you? You have to take over everything. Ts ts... don’t you know there is no God?" it snickers. 

The priest ignores it. "We need to place it somewhere else. This room seems to be pretty crowded," he says, looking over his shoulder right through Louis at the ghosts by the bookshelf. His eyes roam over them, face by face until they land on Harry then flicker to Zayn. 

"We can bring it upstairs to his bedroom," Harry says, clearing his throat. 

"Be quick. Put salt on every exit." 

Zayn nods and hurries out of the room. Louis hears voices from the hallway and guesses that Zayn brought Liam along as well. 

"You’re weak, old man," the demon says, rolling its black eyes. "You can’t kill me. Nobody can. I’m getting stronger by the second, can’t you see?" 

Nobody spares it another moment. The priest is now talking to Harry in quiet murmurs. 

Louis’ mind spins.

It happens again — the living room swimming in front of his eyes. 

Fuck. He is losing time. They have to act now, otherwise… Louis gulps, looking at the demon who is already grinning at him as if it knows where his thoughts have wandered to. A rope winds itself around his chest. Louis sways in place, stumbling backwards and catching himself on the headrest of the sofa. For a second, he can’t seem to feel the soft fabric. No. No, he can’t let it win. 

Its eyes are staring at him when he comes back to his senses. 

"Tick, tick, tick…" the demon taunts. "_ Tick _."

Harry is shaking his head now, then glancing at it. Louis wishes he could hear what they are saying, but he can’t. A ringing sound zips in his ears, making it hard to even hear his own thoughts. As he pushes himself forward, Zayn shoots into the room like a lightning bolt. 

"We can bring it upstairs," he pants, pressing his hand to his waist as his chest rises and falls. "It’s all ready and set up." 

The priest nods curtly, turning to demon-Louis on the ground. The demon hisses at him. The priest pulls another cross necklace out of his pocket, this one longer than the one Harry is holding. It looks to be made out of wood and brown coloured pearls. 

The demon’s eyes lock on it as the cross dangles from the necklace. The moment the priest starts mumbling in Latin, Louis’ gut tugs and he nearly collapses to the floor. Demon-Louis presses its hands over its ears, losing its grin and pressing its lips into a fine line. 

"It’s working," the priest says before rasping another verse in Latin. He closes his eyes as the tangled mess of words leaves his lips. 

"No, no, no…" the demon says but then its eyes roll back in its head. Like Louis experienced before, he witnesses now with his own eyes as his body lifts off the ground. The demon curls in on itself, fighting against the priest’s magic. 

The priest, still murmuring, turns around and marches to the door. The demon screams and tosses in the air, but floats along behind him, being pushed forward by the spell. 

Louis’ feet start walking towards them even though he doesn’t want to. He digs his heels into the rug, but as if a rope was spun around his body, he is dragged with them. 

The screams of the demon are hair-raising, creeping underneath Louis’ skin. Harry follows close behind him, though he stops at the door leading to the hallway, unable to cross over the salt. Louis watches over his shoulder with desperate eyes as Harry starts pounding against the invisible wall. 

"Don’t leave me here!" he screams, voice cracking. "I want to go with you! I want to help!" 

Louis passes his mother, who is crying and being comforted by Liam, who’s wrapping her in a hug and covers her eyes as demon-Louis floats past her, so she doesn’t have to witness more than she already has. Louis is unable to do more than glance back in fear as they make their way through the corridor on the second level to his bedroom. Zayn is close behind him, so close that Louis can feel his breath on his neck. Zayn steps through his body and slips into the room before Louis. 

"No other humans allowed, Zayn. I’m sorry," the priest says, holding the cross against Louis’ body’s forehead as he pushes him to the bed. 

"I can help. I know what to do, too," Zayn says. 

The priest glares at him. "This is the mess that you made. It’s your fault that poor boy got possessed." 

"But —" Zayn crosses his arms but is silenced by another glare from the priest. 

"Just help me tie his hands to the bed and then you have to leave, for your own safety," he grunts. "This one is strong. The spirit cannot be too far." 

Zayn rounds the bed, helping to tie demon-Louis’ hands above its head with a strong, black, wet-looking cord. His eyes flit around the room as if he is looking for Louis. 

Louis was able to stop in the doorway, where he is now standing, staring on as his body is held down and tied up. They have moved to work on his feet, and the demon kicks at Zayn’s face. 

"Okay," the priest groans. He slaps demon-Louis’ cheek with the cross necklace, causing the demon to scream more; louder, too. "It’s fighting hard against my spell. It won’t last long. I advise you to leave now. We want to kill it, not give it the chance to take over another body." 

Zayn nods in understanding. His face is set in a serious mask, his jaw blooming red from where the demon managed a successful kick. "Will you be able to save Louis?" he asks. 

Louis holds his breath. 

The priest sighs, smiling tiredly at Zayn. "That, we will see, my boy. Now, leave. I shall begin." 

* * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise about the cliffhanger, I'll try my best to upload the next chapter asap! thank you so much for reading, the end is around the corner, you guys almost made it! as always, kudos and comments are MORE than welcome, because they make me happppy. 
> 
> here is the [fic post](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/post/188726753141/join-me-in-the-afterlife-by-guccikings) if you'd like to reblog and I'm [harryeatsburger on tumblr](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to chat. 
> 
> stay safe guys, i love youuuu x


	19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, hello, hey! 
> 
> I'm blown away by your wonderful, wonderful comments, thank you sooo much! ily all xxx 
> 
> enjoy! x

* * * 

Louis is trapped in his bedroom with the priest and the demon inhabiting his body. The demon is screaming its head off, tossing and turning but unable to get away because of the line of salt that Zayn put around the bed. Louis guesses that the cords are soaked in holy water, which combined with the salt and the casted spell is sufficient to keep the demon in place.

The priest is standing at the footrest of the bed, his hands held up in front of him in the same position that Zayn had adopted in the living room, his palms open and directed at the ceiling. Wound around both of his hands are two wooden necklaces with big crosses. He is wearing another of those necklaces around his neck and has his grey eyes closed. 

"You can’t kill me!" the demon screams, but its deep voice sounds panicked. "You will kill the boy! You’re a murderer! A murderer! Murderer! _ Murderer _ !" It starts chanting _ murderer _ until Louis can’t take it anymore and closes his eyes until the demon shuts up. Its rattling breath is the only sound for a beat before it hisses something in Latin too, the words tangled together and spoken in an ominous whispered tone that raises all of the hair on Louis’ body. 

The priest sighs and raises his arms higher. He is also speaking in Latin and even though Louis doesn’t understand a word, he doesn’t have to. He can feel it. Pain wracks his frame as more words leave the priest’s mouth. Louis bends forward as if he has been kicked in the stomach and winds his arms around his middle as he groans brokenly. 

"_ Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos, Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia _ ," the priest hums. The demon and Louis scream in unison. Pain shoots through Louis’ mind like a bullet. " _ Caeli Deus, Deus terrae, Humiliter majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus Ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate, Laqueo, and deceptione nequitia, Omnis fallaciae, libera nos, dominates. _" 

Louis’ chest falls and rises rapidly, his breath coming in quick pants. 

The demon stops its screaming and starts letting out high-pitched laughter. "_ One, two, three, four, _ " it slurs out, " _ five, six, seven, eight _." It laughs again, louder this time. 

Louis presses his hands over his ears. 

The priest isn’t too fussed about the demon’s counting and spares it no mind at all. More words come out of his mouth, sounding forceful now. 

Louis moves to the balcony door, leaning against the cool glass for support. His knees turn to jelly as he watches the priest clench his eyes shut, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. The candles’ flames flicker as he shouts something, raising his arms higher like he is praying for God's strength. 

The demon yells something in Latin. 

"I see you, priest!" It cackles. "I see your sins. You fraud! You’re a fraud and a murderer! I see how many people you already have killed. Your kind is the worst, believing in something that doesn’t exist. I see you, I see you. You killed your daughter!" 

The stream of mumbled words falters, which encourages the demon’s taunting. 

"You killed her, didn’t you? Oh yes, yes, I see it now, I see…" it sighs, grinning through the pain that must be rippling through its body. "You called it an _ accident _! Drove too fast, did you not? Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. There it is. And she died because you didn’t see the car coming!" It titters. 

The priest stops his words and for a moment the pain ripping Louis’ insides apart stops. "Shut your filthy mouth, creature of Satan!" he snarls. "You know nothing! _ Nothing _!"

"But I do…" Despite being tied by its hands and feet, it manages to sit upward. 

"Shut your mouth!" The priest hits the demon with a cross, causing demon-Louis’ face to whip to the side with the force of it. "Shut your mouth!" 

"You killed your daughter, you killed your daughter, you killed your daughter, you killed your daughter!" The demon chants in a high-pitched voice, getting more and more worked up. It seems to be becoming stronger as the priest stares at it with wide, horrified eyes. 

"Continue. Please, continue," Louis whispers brokenly. "It’s trying to get the best of you." He blinks away tears of pain and sorrow. 

The demon stares at him and Louis falls silent at once, holding his breath. 

"Why don’t you give it a rest, man of the church? What does it mean to you? I am stronger than you are and older than you are. I might just kill you both!" it taunts, tilting its chin upward in dark pride. 

The priest blinks at it, then shakes himself out of it. "Satan is testing me," he says to himself, "I am a man of God. God is my strength. You are no stronger than He is. Nobody is." He lifts his arms again from where they had fallen to his sides as the demon tried to get under his skin and closes his eyes anew. 

Louis lets out a shuddering breath. He feels relieved yet scared, knowing the pain will come back, but it means the demon’s end too. Hopefully.

He swallows. 

"_ Exorcizamus you omnis immundus spiritus Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, Omnis and congregatio secta diabolica, _ " the priest says. " _ Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, dominates, Ut coven tuam secura tibi libertate servire facias, Te rogamus, audi nos! Ut inimicos sanctae circulae humiliare digneris, Te rogamus, audi nos! _" 

A scream builds in Louis’ chest, but he keeps his mouth shut. The demon flips on its back at once. Its body lifts from the mattress, arms swaying lifeless by its side. 

"_ Terribilis Deus Sanctuario suo, Cernunnos ipse truderit virtutem plebi Suae, Aradia ipse fortitudinem plebi Suae, _ " the priest’s voice grows stronger, more confident. " _ Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri, Benedictus Dea, Matri gloria! _" 

A hot ball of fire builds in Louis’ stomach. This time around he can’t keep himself upright. He tumbles to his knees, curling on the floor in a half-moon shape as the priest’s curses send bullets of pain through him. He is losing consciousness now, the edges of his mind going blurry as the priest speaks more and more, faster and louder. 

_ Harry _, he clings to that thought. Harry is downstairs, probably going insane with fear and terror, not knowing what is happening on the second floor. 

"_ Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei, _" the priest says.

The image of Harry’s smile in Louis’ mind fades until he can’t focus on any of his racing thoughts. The urge to stay awake and not give up slip past him, too fast.

“_ Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus. _”

The demon screams. Louis screams. 

It hurts. 

Louis can’t take it.

He can’t.

He has to give in to sleep, to peace if only to get away from the pain that is licking at the inside of his mind. 

He has no choice. 

"_ In nómine Pátris, et Fílii, et Spirítus Sancti. Amen! _"

Everything goes black. 

* * * 

It takes a long while for Louis to wake up. The process seeps slowly through his bones, letting them come back to life bit by bit.

It begins with a nerve in his finger twitching. He feels something soft tickling his skin. After that, a groan builds somewhere in his upper body — it’s the first sound that he makes and the first sound his ears take in. But that’s it. He can’t move more than his pinky, can’t do more than emit a small whimper.

It’s something at least. It means he isn’t dead just yet. His mind is fuzzy. He feels like someone has electrocuted him, shocked him into oblivion. It feels as if there is a balloon of cotton candy filling his head, useless and desultory.

Suddenly, he gasps loudly, feeling more life sweep through his body. His index finger curls, tapping. His toes jerk and the possibility that he was actually electrocuted seems real. At last, his lashes flutter open. This is a mistake, though, and he closes them again instantly, the hot beams of sunshine blinding him. 

_ Fuck _...

Louis drags his arms over his head to shield his face from the warm rays of the gleaming star on the blue horizon. 

"Oh, look who woke up. _ Finally _. I was already getting bored." 

Louis’ forehead furrows with deep lines of perplexed confusion. The voice is unfamiliar to his ears.

He uncovers his face and rolls his head in the direction of where it came from, carefully blinking his eyes open to peek up at a woman with long black hair sitting an arm’s length away from him. She isn’t looking at him, but straight ahead. For a second, he wonders if she is the one who spoke or if someone else is with them. 

He squeezes his eyes closed and rotates his head away from her, his mind slowly coming back to its senses. The sun heats his skin and the smell of nature encompasses him, but there are no noises other than his quiet breathing. He doesn’t know how much time passes until he starts feeling right again in his body, right enough for him to sit up. Once he does so, he takes in his surroundings with a slow drag of his bleary eyes. 

He scans the place, his neck stiff as he holds it upright and a vacant expression masking his face. His eyebrows touch in the middle and he pinches his nose before glancing around once more, shaking his head as if to clear it. It doesn’t work and his environment stays the same — it’s not his bed back at the house, it’s not his bed back in Bristol, it’s not the garden outside the house. But it looks familiar, frighteningly so. 

His heart stutters as realisation slaps him in the face. He hasn’t awakened in just any random place and his bum isn’t simply planted on just any random grass. 

Louis is at the lake. 

Their lake. 

Harry’s lake. 

The exact lake where he and Harry spent two nights. The lake where he, Niall, and his stepdad went fishing. 

This can’t be real, he thinks, his forehead wrinkling with deep lines. Rubbing over his eyes, he blinks at the water that is reflecting the shining sun. 

It still feels unnatural. There are no birds chirping, no flies buzzing around, no butterflies. Nothing. Only the lake, grass, the sun, and the forest. 

It’s warm and he is sweating underneath the layer of a black, simple shirt that he has never worn nor seen before. His legs in simple black skinny jeans which are way too tight and definitely not his own. On his feet are black boots that resemble Dr. Martens, but that can’t be; he doesn’t own a pair of those.

_ What the fuck? _

He is more than confused as he glances back at the woman who is watching him with unfamiliar brown eyes. Her skin is pale and she looks like she hasn’t eaten any food for a while, her shoulders fragile and bony and her collarbones sharp and pointed. She is wearing a black oversized shirt, and in her dainty hand she is holding a cigarette, the grey fumes forming perfect rings in the summer air. 

"Who are you?" he asks, licking his dry lips. His voice is hoarse and deep. 

"Ha," she shakes her head, sucking lazily on her fag and eyeing him with an amused gaze. "Funny question, that." 

_ Is it? _

"Is it?" he voices aloud, his throat burning with the words. He clears his throat and moves his Adam’s apple from side to side with his thumb and the knuckle of his index. 

"Hmmh, considering you’ve met me countless times by now." 

"I— what?" Louis stares at her with a blank expression. His mind is only now starting to work fully, the edges of it clearing, the fried fog lifting. 

"Well, _ of course _you don’t recognise me," she rolls her eyes, flicking ash into the wind. She smiles, drawing her pointer finger over her lips then from her cheek to her ear and back to her mouth. "I looked different back in the day." She widens her eyes and grins. 

Recognition bleeds through his consciousness, the image of the demon flashing in his mind, wide, insane eyes, a sewn mouth.

He gulps as he stares at her, unblinking. 

She giggles, sighing afterwards and looking down at her own body. She holds her hands in front of her face, inspecting them. "I must say, I really missed looking like me." She stubs out the cigarette and raises her delicate eyebrows at him, a blithe smile on her lips. "Don’t you think I look prettier, too?" She sighs once more. "Harry would think so." She cocks her head to the side, narrowing her gaze. 

_ Harry _. 

Anger roils inside his bones and before he even knows what he is doing, Louis launches himself at her, tackling her to the ground in a mess of limbs and hair. She groans as the back of her head makes contact with the earth and he wastes no time in wrapping his hands around her thin neck. The woman gasps as he squeezes harshly.

She pushes against his chest as he presses both of his thumbs into the hollow of her throat, feeling her pulse beating against the tips of his fingers. It enlivens a fresh feeling of sick bliss inside him, something he has never felt before. Her brown eyes bulge out of their sockets as her mouth pops open and her body twitches underneath his. Louis grinds his teeth, ignoring the way her nails are now digging into his arms, scratching at him as she tries to get him off of her.

There is no chance he will let that happen. He presses harder, feeling her pulse skip for a prolonged beat. 

Out of nowhere she chokes a laugh, spit sprinkling on his cheeks and nose. She grins at him with sharp yellow teeth, her tongue licking over the upper row, reminding him of a tiger in human form.

It brings him out of it, and Louis makes the mistake of lessening his grip for only a moment. She uses it in an instant and not a split-second later, the tables have turned dramatically.

She wraps her legs around his waist with enormous strength, flipping them so that his spine collides with the ground. In a big whoosh, all of the air is knocked out of Louis’ lungs and he can’t breathe as rainbow coloured stars explode in front of his blinking, unseeing eyes. His body throbs in fluctuating pain, his mind dizzy. 

"Oh I like that," she grins, baring her rotten teeth at him. Weakly, he pushes against her shoulders, but she doesn’t budge one bit. She merely widens the stretch of her lips, which causes her to look crazed. "I like that a lot." 

"Fuck you!" he grits out, spitting at her cheek. 

A frown overtakes her features as she wipes his saliva off with the back of her hand absentmindedly. "Not very nice," she tuts, like it’s an enjoyable game. She winds her slender fingers around his throat like he had done to her, cutting off his stream of oxygen. Louis’ pulse beats in his ears as the demon applies more pressure over his Adam’s apple. His eyelashes flutter rapidly. His face crumbles in agony. 

She lowers herself on him and licks a wet, reeking line along his cheek. Nausea bubbles in his stomach and bile shoots up his throat as he inhales her foul breath. 

“Hm…” she bites down on her grin, her eyes tracing his face smugly. “We can do this all day, you know? I am much stronger than you are. You don’t stand a chance.” 

“You might be stronger,” Louis chokes out. It’s hard to talk with fingers wrapped around your throat. “But I am angrier.” Newly won energy rushes through his spine and with a hiss, he surges forward, biting her bicep and sinking his teeth into her flesh until he feels the bone. 

Her scream is deafening. The sound rings painfully in his eardrums, as if someone has blown a loud whistle. It disorients him but not enough for him to give up as she lets go in shock. He uses her moment of weakness and attacks her with his full body. He pushes forward and slams her against the ground. They roll over the grass, wrestling one another, both of them trying to hurt the other as much as they can.

Louis punches her jawline, and she scratches her long, sharp nails over his cheek. He hisses through his grinding teeth as blinding pain blooms on his skin. 

But Louis pushes through, ignoring it as he takes the sides of her head between his hands and smashes it forcefully back against the unforgiving ground. It’s not enough. Louis fists her hair, pulling it before letting the back of her head collide with the earth again and again, over and over. Hot, boiling anger is heating his entire being. He can’t feel anything but that. The rage consumes him. His goal is to end her, to finish her off. 

The only colour he sees is red and it blocks out anything else. He hits her again and sick triumph pangs in his chest as he takes in her suffering groan through the rushing of blood in his eardrums. Her brown eyes roll backwards as he slams her head back and forth, back and forth. Bang. Bang. Bang. 

"_ You _ , because of you!" he snarls in her ashen face. "Look at me, you disgusting piece of shit. Look at me! _ Fucking look at me! _" 

Her lashes flutter open, her brown eyes unfocused, pupils widening and then shrinking. 

"If it weren’t for you, I could be with Harry and my family would be safe. Everyone would be fucking safe! It’s your fucking fault, everything. _ You planted those thoughts into Harry back then. _ You made him do it. Because of you, he has no contact with his sister. You’re an illness. A fucking _ illness _." 

"Aw, _ c’mon… _" she coos, her head lolling over the ground, her neck apparently too weak to keep it still. Louis sits back on her thighs to keep her in place, staring her down. His hands form into fists. "You would have died anyway, even if it weren’t for me. You would have died." 

"You’re lying," he growls, wiping drops of her spit from his cheeks.

"Why would I be lying, baby? We’re both fucking dead. We’ll be stuck together here forever, don’t you get it?" Her voice grows stronger as she carries on, narrowing her eyes at him. "That fucking priest did a fine job." 

"I can’t be dead," Louis says, jumping to his feet. He turns his back to her, staring at the river but not really seeing it. 

He can hear the grin laced in her voice. "You’re right. You’re not completely gone yet. What Zayn doesn’t know is that there is more to the spirit world than what his _ oh so glamorous _books say." 

Louis’ eyebrows twitch. 

"There are demons, ghosts, and then there are spirits that are _ like _ ghosts though _ less _ than a ghost. They have a body but they can’t be seen by anyone, not even your pretty friend. That’s what you became when I kicked you out of your body. And those spirits, they make themselves noticeable by closing doors because," she laughs, a hollow sound, "that’s all they can do. What we are… what _ you _ are is less than a spirit. You’re not gone yet, but you’re not here either. You’re in a limbo of a limbo. Sucks to be us," she sighs the last part in mock-sadness, before breaking the act and giggling. 

"Why are you here?" 

"Oh fuck, don’t ask me. I would guess because we died in the same body. You went back into it when the priest spoke his final words. That wasn’t meant to happen. He meant to only kill me, to send me to this fucking place… instead he sent us both. Nobody does their job right nowadays." 

"What was he meant to do with me?" Louis asks. Scared of the answer, he closes his eyes. 

"Take a guess, honey-baby." 

"I don’t want to." 

"You were meant to die with me but pass on to the other side. But because you went back inside your body… well, he didn’t know that; that wasn’t meant to happen, I guess. So here we are, stuck together forever." 

"I don’t believe that," Louis murmurs, taking a step towards the lake. 

"Don’t go there," she hisses from behind him.

Louis turns, eyeing her with raised brows. "Why not?" 

The demon shrugs, lighting another cigarette. "Want one?" she asks, noticing his lingering stare. 

He shakes his head. She shrugs again. 

But then again, why not? Fuck it. 

"Yeah, I want one," Louis nods, coming to a stand by her naked, dirty feet. She hands him a cigarette along with a lighter. "Where did you get them from?" 

"I’m a witch, remember? My powers aren’t as strong here, but a cigarette is easy." 

Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head and trapping the fag between his cracked lips. He lights it and sucks the smoke into his lungs. It feels good, bringing a bit of normalcy to the entire thing. The nicotine builds a slight pressure around his head and his mouth runs dry before his second greedy drag. 

"I’m glad I chose you. Johnny was fucking annoying. Maybe because he was younger than you, but," she huffs, puffing out smoke with it, "he was a fucking dickhead. Never understood what Harry saw in him, honestly." 

"Don’t talk about him like that," Louis says, exhaling grey smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "They were young back then and you took him from Harry." He shakes his head, disgust curling his upper lip. “You made him suffer so damn much. For what, huh?”

"I take it back. You’re bloody annoying, too. Humans are annoying with their morals and belief system." 

"Get used to it," Louis murmurs, facing the lake again. It’s not reflecting the sun any longer. It’s dark. He takes another step towards it. 

"I wasn’t lying, you know? You would have died anyway," she calls out, her voice raised higher than it was before. 

"I don’t believe it," Louis says over his shoulder. He takes another hit of his cigarette, tapping the filter afterwards. 

"I don’t have a reason to lie. I could see inside your soul and see everything when I possessed you. You would have died in a car crash. It wasn’t your fault though. You weren’t driving. Some blond guy was." 

Perplexed, he turns back to her despite not wanting to. "Niall?" 

"No, someone named Nick." 

"I don’t know anyone named Nick." 

"Well, by then you’d know him.” Her eyes squint as she mulls it over. “_ Grimshaw _… yeah, that’s his last name." 

Louis snorts a low laugh. “Yeah sure, sure. Nick fucking Grimshaw. You’re fucking hilarious.” 

“What?” Her brows bump, and she cocks her head to the side. “What’s so funny about that?” 

“Grimshaw is the host of a morning radio show.” 

“A _ what _ show?” 

Right. She was killed a long time ago. He pauses. How would she know of him then? Maybe his mother had been listening to him on the radio and the demon overheard his name. 

“I don’t understand,” Louis says at last.

Harry had told him that she could predict the future, but Louis had never believed that. He thought it was too fucked up. But so is everything. Fuck. Ugh. His mind spins, his headache is increasing. He massages his temples.

“And I really don’t want to understand.”

She licks her lips slowly. "Of course you don’t understand. You’re human. Humans are ignorant. They think they are oh so almighty. But fun fact, honey, you aren’t. Your race is the worst. Useless. Arrogant. Tsts...” she clicks her tongue. 

“I don’t know. You’re no saint either.” 

“I never said I was,” she gives a meagre shrug. 

“So you can see the future?” Louis blinks at her, thinking to himself that this must be the most bizarre conversation of his entire fucking life. His mind is still dizzy. 

“Yeah, I can see everything. Every secret, every sin, every truth, every lie. Everything you ever have touched. Before I possessed you, I had to get some more information about you, didn’t I? Wanted to make sure I wouldn’t harm myself by wearing your human body," she snorts wetly, laughing. “Now look where it got me!”

Louis shrugs.

Sobering, she drags her hand through her black hair. "You would have died a year from now. I can’t tell you the exact details. They are too swimmy, too unimportant. But he was giving you a ride because your car had given up on you. He was a real shitty driver, didn’t have the attention span and the music was too loud. You guys were excited. There was a crash. You died right on the spot, cracked skull and everything. It was pretty bad. Nick survived though.” 

Louis doesn’t want to believe it. This is surreal. Why would he even be in a car with the host of the morning radio show? Alone that tiny fact makes it unbelievable to him. He doesn’t even like that guy. 

“You would have died, Louis. So… whatever, right? A year before your actual death doesn’t matter much. A year is short." 

He grinds his teeth. 

"I would have eaten your mum’s baby, by the way. Pure souls are the most delicious." 

Louis takes large steps towards her, glaring her down. His hands prickle with the strong, oh so strong urge to strangle her again and _ again _ until she would never wake up, ever. He’d make sure of it.

He feels sick. "_ Can you just shut the fuck up? _" 

"Aren’t you curious about what else would have happened?" She bobs her head. 

"I’m more curious if there is a way out of here." 

Her eyebrows raise. For a second, her gaze moves beyond Louis’ shoulder and a grins lifts her lips. "There isn’t." 

"Maybe not for you," Louis lifts his brows. "You said so yourself. I could have been saved but you’d die…" 

"Now you’re just reaching," 

"Am I?" Louis wonders.

He hadn’t thought the possibility of getting out of here held any truth but something, a little flicker in her eyes lets the tiny seed of hope bloom into a flower as he looks around for something like a door or a sign giving directions or… something, _ anything _.

"This can’t be my end. I tried so hard to cling to the part that was still alive." Harry had told him that ghosts exist because some humans just don’t want to leave the earth. Either they have unfinished business or simply don’t want to pass to the other side. Louis wasn’t ready to die. He wasn’t meant to die. So what if there actually is a way out of this limbo place and back to his family? 

"Where are you going?" she calls after him as he marches towards the forest. 

"Goodbye." 

"Hey, come back!" 

He doesn’t reply to the demon as he stalks onto the path, glancing around with wide eyes and trying to spot a hint that he is on the right track. Something pulls him back, telling him it’s wrong although it’s the way to the house. Louis hums, turning around and returning to where he came from, passing the demon. 

She grins. "No way out, Louis William Tomlinson. We’re stuck here together. We can make the time more fun though, what do you say? Huh? Care for another cigarette? C’mon." 

"Fuck off," Louis doesn’t look at her as he spins in a helpless circle. 

"Don’t bother trying, Lou." 

"Don’t call me that." 

"Baby."

"Shut your mouth." Louis stops spinning. 

She sighs, laying down on the grass and crossing her healed arms behind her head. Louis didn’t notice before, but somehow his bite hasn’t left a lasting mark on her skin. "You’re fucking boring. We have this entire place to ourselves, hun, and I haven't had fun in a long time. Don’t be a prude." 

Louis shakes his head. “Fuck you, just fuck you.” 

He starts walking again, now more desperate than before to find a way out of this hell-like place. Zayn was so wrong. Hell might not exist as a big underground hole that is set aflame and burning, a hot spot for all bad people, but it’s more personal. So much more personal. 

The demon starts humming a song under her breath and the familiar melody makes Louis falter in his steps, then completely come to a stuttered stop. 

His heart recognises it before his brain does, shattering into a million pieces at once. His breath comes out in small pants as his hands fist around empty air. 

It’s Harry’s song. 

She’s singing Harry’s song: _ 'If I could fly' _. 

His chest heaves with sadness and he bows his head. His shoulders are wracked by a shiver. 

It’s too much. The longing in his body is transformed to pure anger. Her voice is taunting, the words unfitting and wrong leaving her lips. She has no right to sing that song. No right at all.

His fists long to collide with her fucking jaw again, to break it this time around so that she won’t be able to sing or talk or even breathe without pain. However, the song also stirs the want to get the fuck out of here even more. So instead of marching to the demon and getting into another fight that will only hold him back from his goal, he walks away from her, from her singing, from Harry’s song, from the pain.

"_ I like how this is going _ ," Louis murmurs to himself as distraction. If he believes these words maybe they will come true. " _ I can only see my love growing. I like the way this is going. _" 

It doesn’t work. 

His song to Harry has the same effect as hearing the words from Harry’s song gifted to him. 

He stops when he is by the lake and plops down on the earth, staring listlessly into the water. 

It doesn’t take long for tears to build, burning in his eyeballs. As he shuts his lids, they spill over and run down his cheeks. 

He hides his face in his palms as his body is wracked with sobs. It hurts. A lot.

It’s just… he had been so sure that everything would be alright in the end. He had been sure that Zayn knew what he was doing, sure that he’d come out alive, sure that the priest would kill the sinister demon that forced its way inside him. Even coming back as a ghost would have been great. Fantastic, superb, even. That way he could still be with his mother, with Lottie, with Niall, with Harry.

His mum is pregnant with another baby and he won’t ever get to meet it, his baby sibling. He had been hoping it would be a boy so he could teach him football tricks — though he would have done the same if it was a girl. If it was a girl he guesses Lottie would have taken her under her protective wing, showing her whatever girls like to do, probably playing _ Mario Kart _with her or something. 

At least, he thinks with a heavy heart, he protected his unborn sibling. If what the demon woman said is true, then he has saved its pure, innocent soul from being a meal by dying himself. If anything good came out of his stupid idea to storm back to the house, this is it. Perhaps it’s fate. Better him than his sibling, always. _ Always _. 

Ugh. 

He ruined it himself though, didn’t he? It’s his own fucking fault that he is here, trapped in this place with the demon woman. He shouldn’t have come back. Yet that isn’t really what he regrets, recalling Harry’s surprised face as he went into the living room. It was worth it, being with him in his final moments. He couldn’t have lived with himself if he had actually gone back to Bristol.

That’s kind of the thing, though: what he regrets is not being strong enough to become a ghost or stay as a spirit. He could have watched over his mum, protected them all maybe. Fuck, he would have opened and closed a door a million times if it meant they would know that he is amongst them. And on a full moon he would have had the chance to be visible and talk to his family, to have one night a month to join them for dinner or a movie, hug them, tell them how sorry he is about dying and if he felt up for it, he could have gone to the pub like these girls from the cult. It would have worked out fine. Honestly, anything would be better than this screwed version of reality. 

He wipes tears off his cheeks with pathetic sniffs. 

If he is here and not a ghost in the house, does that mean that Zayn finished his bullshit spell and banished _ all ghosts? _Banished Harry? Harry, who was frightened for Louis’ life? What an awful way to go. Louis’ insides give a painful tug at that thought and let a fresh wave of sadness crash over his frame. He doesn’t want to imagine Harry having to leave with the knowledge that Louis is gone too. 

He blinks out to the lake. Something twitches on the water, like a fish. Louis turns his head to the side, frowning — that cannot be true, right? They are in limbo, in their own little space where nothing else exists. Maybe Louis got that part wrong, but he can’t imagine animals living here. He still doesn’t hear any birds. Perhaps they died too.

Again, something causes the water to make small waves. 

He blinks, staring motionless and with a stiff spine. 

"What the…" he murmurs, scrambling to a stand and walking towards the shore. 

"What are you doing?" the demon calls from behind him, her voice shaking with — what? Fear? Warning? He can’t be sure.

In the middle of the water, something parts the surface, creating even more ripples. 

His heart starts beating in his chest as he reaches the shore. 

It’s not a fish, he realises with shock. It’s a _ hand _. 

A fucking hand is shooting out of the water. 

Without a second thought, he marches into the lake until he is thigh-deep into the freezing water. As the hand lifts through the waves another time, Louis starts swimming towards it, faster than he has ever done before.

“Louis! What are you doing? Are you crazy? Come back!” the demon calls out to him. “_ Louis, for fucks sake! _”

Louis dives into the water, pushing his body forward. Bubbles come out of his nostrils as he exhales, blinking. For a moment, everything swims in front of his vision like a blurry veil, and he can only make out dark shadows. Slowly, his eyes get used to being in the dark and underwater. They hurt, but it’s nothing compared to anything else he has endured so far.

That is when he sees her. 

_ Amber _. 

She is diving towards him as she, too, has spotted him.

He pushes himself forward, his legs swaying behind his body and the muscles in his arms stinging as he forces them to go faster, faster, faster.

Her green eyes are wide open, and her brown hair is flowing all around her. A million tiny bubbles leave her mouth as she grins, taking his hand when they are close. She points to a chasm like hole in the sand underneath them. It looks pitch black from where they are floating in the water. 

Louis nods. He has no idea where they are going or how she got here, but he trusts her. So far Amber has only confused him with her night adventures, but… he can’t doubt her now. She came for him. He knows it. He can feel it in his gut as they both dive lower, directly at the black chasm. 

There is a splash and as Louis looks over his shoulder, his eyes bulge as he sees the demon, transformed into its true demon form, like when they had first met. The demon swims towards them, awkwardly so with legs and arms rowing in weird angles. But the demon is catching up fast, nonetheless. 

Louis’ heart fills with fear. 

He squeezes Amber’s hand in warning and they speed up. They are nearly there. They could make it. They can make it. They will make it. 

Nearly th— 

_ Oh shit. _

Bony arms wrap around Louis’ middle from behind and he screams, air bubbles rushing out of his mouth. He loses contact with Amber as her hand slips from his. 

"You can’t get away this easily!" a voice hisses in his mind, high pitched and too familiar by now. "You stay with me. I need your soul. I need your soul!" 

Louis kicks at it, his fingernails digging into its arms as it tries to drag him to the surface. 

It’s strong, inhumanly so. 

He does the only thing he can do: he curls forward, bowing his head, opens his jaw as wide as he can to bite the demon’s arm, sinking his teeth deep into its flesh. It tastes rotten and burns his tongue. He bites harder, grinding his jaw, his teeth sinking even further into its arm.

A scream zips like an electric shock through his mind and he resists the urge to press his hands to his ears. Instead, he turns around in the water, facing the demon as he floats in place. It stares back at him, cradling its arms to its heaving chest. 

Wasting no more time staring in disgust at that _ thing _, he presses the nails of his thumbs into its large unblinking eyes, holding its head in a death grip and putting as much pressure on them as he can muster up. The demon flinches in pain and a howl rips through him, but he strains his arms to hold it in place. The promise of freedom pulses through his veins, giving him new, buzzing energy, and fresh hope. 

Blood starts floating in the water, coming out of its wide, wounded eyeballs. 

He holds his breath, his stomach turning at the sight. The demon kicks at his shins as it tries to fight him off, shaking its head maniacally, trying to recoil from his ruthless touch. 

Louis’ fingers are still in its eye sockets, and sick triumph blooms in his chest as the kicking and wiggling stops. Its body slackens, one final bubble leaving her mouth. 

At this moment, a hand tugs on the hem of his black shirt. He had nearly forgotten that he isn’t alone. They were on a mission. Amber stares at him with a begging gaze, tapping at her wrist to signal to him that they don’t have much time. Louis nods, drawing his thumbs out of the demon’s eyes. Before the demon is able to recover, he takes Amber’s tiny hand in his and together they move forward, diving down toward the hole at the bottom of the lake. 

Wasting no more time, Amber tugs him along into the darkness. 

* * * 

Louis’ lungs fill with air, and he gasps, spluttering water. He coughs throatily, sitting upright and bringing his fist to his mouth as more water drips out of his lips. Fucking hell. 

Again, he is surrounded by blackness. 

Well, it would have been too easy otherwise, he thinks with a pounding, tugging heart. It would have been too easy to think it’d work, that he could just trick death and come back like that. 

He rubs a tired hand over his face and sighs through his nose, his throat burning from choking on water. Blinking around, he guesses that this is another parallel limbo, another place to pass time infinitely. He liked the lake better. At least he had something to look at. 

That’s what happens when you get greedy with hope, he thinks. He tried at least and that is something, innit? Whoever is responsible for his soul floating through these kinds of spaces must see with time that he only wants to return to his family, be it as human, ghost, or spirit. At this point he isn’t fussy. He doesn’t care if he is dead or whatever. He just wants to see his mother.

Fuck, he misses her. He shouldn’t have given her the cold shoulder. If Louis had only known it would be the last time that he saw her, he would have hugged her close. He doesn’t really know what else he would have done since saying goodbye for the last time to the woman who carried you in her womb is nothing you want to do, nothing you want to think about. He never imagined that their last day together would be around the corner. Saying goodbye to Harry already hurt so much. Saying goodbye to his mother, his best friend — he doesn’t think he wouldn’t have survived that anyhow. 

This sucks, Louis thinks, feeling solid ground under his hands as he pushes himself to a stand. He shakes out his stiff legs. 

So this is it, this is another stop. Where is Amber? He perks his ears to listen for noises, another person breathing, shuffling, rustling, or anything. There is no such sound. He releases a grand exhale. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

There really isn’t a God out there, he muses. God wouldn’t let him rot in a dark hole. God would know that he went back because of his love for Harry, nothing more, nothing less. He was foolish, sure, but foolish enough to be punished like this? He hasn’t done anything truly bad in his life. He was a good son, a good brother, a good friend, and a good student. He tried to make the best out of the life he was given and yet look where it got him. 

Frustration takes the upper hand and he fists his hair, tugging. 

"Fuck everyone, seriously," he says with his head rolled back, speaking upwards to where he believes heaven is. There is no answer; of course there isn’t. He kicks the air. "Fuck you, God. Yeah, I’m talking to you, fucker!" 

This is what is left of his life. He is cursing at God, great. If He truly exists, He has better things to do than listen to Louis’ angry screams at Him, innit? Like helping people in need, poor children in Africa, or stopping wars and illnesses that are spreading through innocent people’s bodies. But oh wait, he doesn’t do even that, right? Fuck.

"Time to prove me wrong, God," he murmurs. "I’ll go to church every Sunday, I swear it. I will go to church, never touch another boy, never drink a drop of alcohol. Fuck, you know what? I won’t do anything people my age do. I will just sit at home with my mum playing fucking Scrabble! Just…" he exhales shakily as tears well in his eyes. He sniffs, speaking to where his feet would be if he could see, "let me go home. I promise. I just wanna see my mum, my sister, hell, even Matt for all I care. Just… please, if Harry is there… please. Just, please?"

Louis rubs angry knuckles over his closed eyelids. He can say whatever he fucking wants. It does nothing. Nobody answers him, no angel comes flying to him with a clipboard and says ‘_ well _ , God is _ indeed _ busy but you’ll be put on a long waiting list’. At least that would be something, right? A sign that he has been heard. 

There is no sign. Instead, a foul scent creeps through his nostrils causing him to frown and scrunch up his nose in disgust. His empty stomach rolls. 

"Great, now you sent me to a smelly fucking place. Thanks a lot, mate." He drags one of his feet over the ground; it slides easily. 

_ Wait a second. _

Louis squats, his fingers blindly feeling around. The smell down here is more permanent, stronger. It makes him gag, but right now he _ loves _ that fucking smell. He is in love with the stink that now clings to his fingertips as he brings them to his nose, sniffing. 

He loves it. Oh my god, fuck yes. 

Louis’ heart starts racing. He jumps to his feet. 

"Please, c’mon, please…" he mutters under his breath as he steps a few steps forward, careful not to slip or run into something. He reaches out his hand, feeling around. All it takes is one simple step and his hand hits something solid. Louis really, really tries to tame the hope that flares within him, making him buzz with energy. As he feels around the brick wall in front of him, he hits wood. He stills.

"I’m in the_ barn _!" Louis gasps, his eyes widening. Blindly he goes for the door handle, unable to believe his luck when he finds it. 

He stops. What if this is another trick? The lake was something familiar, too. What if the demon is waiting for him to open that door? She must be pretty mad. After all, he poked her eyes out. He cringes at the faint memory. Already, it feels like that was lightyears ago.

Louis inhales deeply. It’s now or never. 

Louis closes his eyes as he pushes the door open, his face warmed by rays of sunshine. It has to be sunshine. As he lets his lashes flutter open, it’s confirmed, it is indeed fucking sunshine.

Taking a big step out of the barn, he glances around, finding his car parked in the driveway and Jay and Matt’s car next to it. This looks extraordinarily normal, Louis thinks, and turns his head to gaze up at the house. He sweeps his fringe to the side and out of his eyes. The house doesn’t look different either. 

The lake was the same, but Louis had known something wasn’t right when he woke up, not only because of the woman sat next to him but also because it was abnormally quiet. He just knew he wasn’t at their lake, but somewhere else. Somehow, this feels different. Birds are chirping their songs in the distance and a few clouds float through the blue of the sky. At the lake, there were no clouds, no birds. It was nothing like this. 

The flame of hope increases as he spins in a slow circle, taking in the shut gate, their cars, the barn, and the field. He can see it all from where he is standing on the crunching gravel. This is it. This is fucking it. 

Louis kisses his hand and holds it to the sky.

"Listen… you know, what I said before…" he starts awkwardly, "I mean, it was no lie, but…" he trails off, his eyes fixed on the front door. Okay, before he redoes his speech about becoming a priest himself, no alcohol and all that bullshit, he should check it out and see. Maybe this is another trick after all. 

Instead of going to the front door, he moves around the house, hoping he will find Amber or Harry or someone in the garden. Nobody is there. The water of the river flows, the sound soothing to his ears. The outside lounge is empty too, which is normal and doesn’t make Louis think it’s time to panic just yet. Next, he moves to the terrace door and slides it open from the outside. 

The kitchen is empty, and that is what causes a bit of his buzzing hope to subside. The house is too quiet. There is no noise whatsoever. 

Well, since the cars are out front, someone should definitely be home. Fuck. If this is another fucking alternate universe, realer than before, more natural but empty except for himself… 

_ Fuck this. _

Just to make sure, he checks the living room: _ empty _. 

Matt’s office on the ground level: _ empty _. 

He wanders up the stairs to his mother’s room: _fucking_ _empty_. 

He sighs to himself, the last trace of hope vanishing from his chest, leaving it empty as well. 

Hm, well at least he can now mourn whatever this is in his room, right? That’s a plus, innit? It’s infinitely better than being stuck at the lake with the demon that caused all of them this fucking trouble. At least he doesn’t have to listen to her mocking words anymore. 

Louis is slow to make his way to his bedroom. When he does, he pushes the door open without further thought. He focuses only on the bed, guessing he can sleep and find peace of mind that way. He feels exhausted after all his travelling around different spaces. Only when he is in the middle of the room, his steps falter and come to an abrupt stop.

Louis stares. His lips flap without sound. 

Harry is sleeping in his bed, his body tucked underneath the duvet. His eyes are closed and his body is curled in on itself like a foetus, his dark hair spread over the pillow and his breath coming out in little quiet puffs. Just when Louis finds his strength again and is about to go over, Harry sniffs and rolls around on his back, blinking his green eyes open. 

Even from where Louis is standing, he can see the transparent teardrops roll down from his eyes to his ears. A broken whimper leaves his lips and he sniffs again, rubbing his nose. 

"Y-you k-know…" Harry cries softly and for a shocking moment Louis thinks that he knows he is present and is talking to him, but that’s not the case. His eyes are directed at the ceiling above. Louis’ heart starts beating in an uneven pattern. "I th-think it’s unfair, really unfair. I promised you that I’d give up everything for y-you, but… now you’re the one who’s… who’s g-gone," he sniffs. "But I wish I really could fly. I would be coming right back to you, wherever you are. Are you up there, Louis? In heaven?" Harry blinks his lashes, still talking to the ceiling, another heartbreaking sob leaving his lips.

Louis can physically feel his sadness and he can’t take it anymore. 

"Not quite heaven," he rasps throatily. 

Harry jolts upwards at the sound of his voice. His gaze finds him instantly, and their eyes lock. His jaw slacks. Harry rubs over his eyes furiously, blinking even more tears out of his lashes. The highest point of his cheekbones is reddens, though his cheeks are so ashen and fallen inward that he truly looks like a ghost.

Louis doesn’t feel any better than Harry looks. He shifts his weight as Harry merely stares at him, a shocked expression of disbelief overcoming his features. 

"L-Louis?" 

The way Harry says his name sets him into action. Before he can think about anything more, Louis follows his instinct to be close to Harry. He rounds the bed and Harry opens his arms like clockwork. They both pull each other into a bone-crushing embrace. Louis hooks his chin on Harry’s shoulder, letting himself be manhandled as Harry pulls him on top, so his thighs rest on either side of Harry’s hips. 

It feels like coming home, sinking into Harry’s warmth and filling his lungs with Harry’s faint scent which clings strongest to his curls at the nape of his neck. 

Louis tightens his arms around Harry. This isn’t close enough. If Louis could, he would crawl underneath his skin. Then he remembers how awful that feeling was and waves the thought out of his mind, not allowing himself to think about that any longer. He made it. 

"Louis, Louis…" Harry chants, cupping both of his cheeks and moving his face out of its hiding place, bringing them both face to face. 

Harry’s eyes are searching, roaming over every inch of Louis’ skin. Louis feels the skin next to his eyes crinkle with the force of his shaky smile. His heart is galloping in his chest. 

"Harry, I’m here. I’m home." Louis can’t believe it himself. A wave of relief wraps him in a cozy bubble, though an unexpected sob leaves his lips. "I’m home," he sniffs, burying his fingers in Harry’s hair, feeling how soft it is because it always is soft and — he is _ home _. He is truly home. He made it; he fucking made it. 

"You… you are," Harry whispers. "Y-you are. H-how- how are you here? Am I dreaming? I’m dreaming, aren’t I?" 

Louis shrugs his fragile shoulders. "I don’t think you’re dreaming. Dunno… I," he shakes his head a bit, trying to catch a clear thought. "Amber?" 

"Amber?" Harry asks. “I noticed she was missing. I actually asked Zayn about it, and… I don’t really understand it myself, but apparently a ghost child’s soul can slip through the different stages of death because it’s tiny. So, she went to you?” 

He nods and sighs. "I guess so? It’s a long story." 

"I believe that," Harry says, sympathetic, tears slipping out of his eyes. 

Louis swallows, rubbing his thumbs over Harry’s cheekbones to wipe the drops away. "Don’t cry…" 

Harry chuckles wetly, sniffing and shifting under Louis. "I’m just — God, Louis, what the fuck? You’re here, actually really here." His hands wander from Louis’ face to his neck, to his shoulders and down his arms to his back, pulling him even closer until their chests are flush together as if to make sure Louis isn’t a hallucination.

For a wonderful moment, they breathe in each other’s air. 

"Kiss me," Louis whispers, his nose bumping against Harry’s. 

Harry smiles, nearing his lips carefully. His glance flickers from one of Louis’ eyes to the other. It takes too long, too bloody long and Louis closes the distance, sealing their lips in a nervous, closed-lipped, yet still wet from their tears kiss. The moment their lips touch, Louis comes to life fully and completely, a warmth making its home in his belly as a million butterflies spread their wings there excitedly. Louis breathes out slowly through his nostrils, letting his hand creep to Harry’s neck and tilting his head a bit to the side for another gentle kiss. 

Harry loops his arms tighter around his lower back and then parts his lips. Their tongues slot together slowly as if they are exploring each other’s mouths for the first time, not knowing what to expect. Harry hums, his chest vibrating as he deepens the kiss, but keeps it slow as if they have all the time in the world. Louis guesses that it’s true and a shiver runs down his spine. He shakes against Harry and has to break their kiss as another sob comes out. 

"I’m dead, aren’t I?" he whispers brokenly, keeping his eyes closed and their foreheads touching. 

Harry swallows, his exhale accompanied by a quiet whimper. "I’m sorry, Louis. It’s all my fault." 

"Bullshit," Louis surprises both of them with the harshly spoken word. Louis blinks his eyes open to frown at Harry. "It’s not your fault. _ Definitely _ not. If it’s anyone’s fault, then it’s that demon’s…" he shakes his head, maintaining eye-contact. "She was fucking nuts, that witch. I mean it. I can’t believe you let her anywhere near you." 

"She killed Johnny…" Harry sniffs. "She killed Johnny and you because of me. It’s my fault. If I wasn’t in the picture, you could still be alive —" 

"Yes, but you didn’t tell her to kill either of us, now did you?" Louis lifts his eyebrows, cradling Harry’s chin with his thumb. 

"Of course not," Harry scoffs. 

"See, there you go." 

"Still…" Harry’s face twists with self-doubt. "I’m… sorry, still. It doesn’t matter who killed who or whatever. You’re dead, Louis. I’m not sure… you probably need a bit of time to process what happened." His eyes flicker away.

Louis sits back, his hands falling to his thighs. "Yeah, I guess I do…" he swallows. "I’m just… so happy to be here, you can’t imagine. I was at our lake, H, but like not at _ our _ lake… but somewhere else and she was with me?" He pulls a grimace because his explanation isn’t doing it any justice.

He doesn’t know how to express the fear, sorrow, and hopelessness he had felt sitting at the shore until he saw Amber’s hand. He had believed — truly believed — that he would be stuck there forever, and with that demonic witch no less.

"In my heart I knew there was a way out, but I couldn’t find it. I would have never had the idea to dive into that lake, but… Amber, I saw her hand and she… she just," he closes his lashes, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, needing something to hold on, to anchor him. He twists the fabric. "She brought me back. I don’t know how she did that. W-where is she?" Louis asks, blinking his eyes open and glancing around as if she would pop out of thin air only because he asked for her. Louis stiffens in fear as an awful thought creeps into his mind. "She made it back, right? She didn’t get stuck by the lake? She… she didn’t drown?" Louis stares at Harry, his heart beating wildly. 

Uncertainty flashes over Harry’s face. He chews on his bottom lip before opening his mouth to reply but — 

"I’m here," a small voice says from behind them. 

Louis turns. 

Amber is standing by the doorway, waving shyly at them. Her free hand is holding tightly onto the door handle. 

Louis releases a breath of pure relief. 

"Oh thank _ fuck _." He pushes himself off the bed, Harry close on his heels. 

Amber comes running to him, throwing herself against Louis’ legs. He stumbles, but Harry catches him with gentle hands. 

As she looks up at him, there is a tiny smile etched on her lips. Louis shakes his head in wonderment. 

"How?" he asks her, because honestly that is the only question that has been nagging in his gut ever since he realised it was Amber in the water. 

She shrugs. "Dunno… I just did it? I concentrated on you. Your thoughts are _ really _ loud, by the way.” 

That’s it, that’s her explanation. Simple. It’s not. 

“Amber…” Harry whispers, brokenly, crouching down. 

"The scary lady is gone," she whispers before she pads over to Harry, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. "I was so scared of her." She visibly shudders in his arms. 

Louis’ heart softens at the picture of brother and sister reunited. Harry presses his nose into her hair and Louis is reminded with a pang in his chest that it has been over twenty-five years for Harry to hold his sister in his arms though they shared the same living and breathing space. He sets his jaw, drawing in a calming breath so that he won’t fucking start crying again but has to dab his eyes anyway. 

"I missed you," Harry says to her and Louis chooses to give them privacy, slipping out of the room unnoticed, his heart so much lighter than it was before. 

* * * 

Harry finds him shortly afterwards by the river. 

"Here you are," he murmurs, plopping down on the grass next to Louis. "How are you feeling?" he asks, eyeing him carefully. 

Louis smiles, his gaze fixed on the flowing water. 

"I bet not that great, huh?" 

"Where is everyone?" Louis asks instead of answering. He feels better than before, now that the shock has worn off and he was able to sink into the happiness of seeing Harry again and being able to hold him, plus the happiness of Amber and Harry talking and hugging. But after he left them alone, he started feeling awkward walking through the halls, his steps leaving echoes behind for nobody to hear but him. 

"I don’t know if I should tell you. I think it’s too soon…" Harry whispers with an audible gulp. 

"Tell me," Louis nods, laying back in the grass and staring at the blue sky. Harry mimics him, finding his hand and squeezing it gently.

"They are at your funeral." 

Louis closes his eyes. So this is really happening. Of course, he had said it was fine to come back as a ghost or even as a spirit, but hearing out loud, spoken by another person, that he indeed died makes it more real. 

They are at _his_ _funeral_. His family. That is why they aren’t home.

"I don’t know if you know, but you were gone for a good week. The first day was the hardest, really. Your mother was out of her mind, and nobody could calm her down. She threw books at me and at Zayn, then Liam tried to calm her, I don’t know, but she lost it on him too. Zayn made her one of his witch brews and she slept for a while. We explained it to your stepdad too. He didn’t believe us, but… well that priest was still there when Matt showed up and of course he would believe someone from the church, right?" Harry chuckles but there is little humour in his voice. "We didn’t know what to do with… your, er… body. Honestly, that was kind of an issue because the priest killed you indirectly. Nobody wanted to just get rid of it." 

Louis’ frame is wracked by a shudder. He sets his jaw. 

"Liam wanted to call the police, but Zayn was against it. Jay called them anyway because she… well, she isn’t that big of a fan of Zayn. She probably hates him more than me at this point, since he was the one who…" Harry shakes his head, huffing. "It doesn’t matter. She called the police and an ambulance. They took you from here, and Jay and Matt went with them. For a while we all really didn’t know what to do. Zayn tried to contact you, but it was too soon I guess? Fuck, I have no idea how this stuff works." 

Louis smiles at Harry. It’s a sad smile. Harry returns it, his equally sad.

"They said that your death was caused by natural causes. They asked about your arms and said that your insides were burned from the inside out, and nobody could explain that. But it didn’t look like a murder, so…" Harry shrugs, awkwardly. "Jay didn’t tell us all of it, just that they have your body now. I haven’t seen her since then. She kept to herself and I stayed out of the way. Zayn and Liam left after they cleaned up the mess of candles and shit. Fuck, this all sounds so bad. I’m all over the place, I’m sorry." 

"It’s fine," Louis whispers. 

"It’s not." 

"Yeah, it’s not." 

They stare into the sky as silence stretches between them. 

"I’m sorry—" 

"Harry…" Louis warns, "it hurts me that you think any of this was your fault. It was partly my fault. I went back to the house. I was stupid and I’m sorry that I’ve caused everyone so much sorrow, but I couldn’t just leave you, y’know? That… just sat wrong with me." He rolls his head in Harry’s direction, finding his boy already looking at him. "I mean, Zayn fucked up too, I guess…" he breathes. "But I don’t blame him. I couldn’t cast a spell if my life depended on it," he shrugs, swallowing. "I guess everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. The demon tried to possess me the other night when she scratched my arms, and she pretended to be you so she… could see if her touch would kill me instantly or something?" 

Harry shakes his head, green eyes glassy and wide open, reflecting the feelings that are bottled inside Louis’ heart.

"Anyways, I’m…" Louis furrows his eyebrows, scratching his forehead harshly. "When I was with her at the lake she said that I would have died in around a year, like… in a car accident. I’m not sure if that’s true. I mean… she’s a bloody demon and she tried to keep me at the lake, so I dunno if I can take her word for it. But she said she can see everything? Like into my soul. That she can read all my secrets and how my future will turn out." 

"Well, she told me things too…" Harry muses, quietly. "Not that I’d die or how or whatever, but she showed me the outside world, not with words but in pictures like I told you. She showed me how happy I could be. I mean, with her. She was always with me." 

Louis snorts as a laugh erupts in his chest and bubbles out into the air. Harry raises his brows. 

"What’s… uh, so funny?" 

"Apparently she can predict anyone’s future but her own. Bet she didn’t see it coming that she’d be stuck at… a bloody _ lake _ I mean — it’s _ hilarious _, isn’t it?" Louis wheezes. 

It’s not. It is _ anything _ but funny, yet Louis can’t stop laughing, feeling hysterical at this point. His chest heaves as more snorted laughter boil to the surface, causing his body to shake in the grass. He hiccups. 

"Yeah… it is," Harry says slowly, definitely not agreeing with Louis. He roams over Louis’ face, carefully taking him in, at a loss of what to say. 

"Fuck. _ Lake of Fire _ , huh? _ Where do bad folks go when they die? They don't go to heaven where the angels fly… They go to the lake of fire and fry _," Louis giggles, his vision blurry with unshed tears. “How fucking funny is that?"

Harry chuckles, a bit more light shining in the green of his eyes as the skin crinkles around them. He shakes his head. "Very." 

"Right?" Louis grins. Then he sobers, chewing on his bottom lip. "You reckon she’ll stay there?" 

"I sure hope so." 

"What happens now?" Louis wonders out loud. "I really thought this would feel more weird. Like… I’m a bit shaken, sure, but I had another person inside me — and not in the way I’d prefer," he throws the joke in to lighten the mood, but it falls flat. He isn’t even able to crack a smile himself. "I mean, what happens now?" He repeats his question, seeking an answer in Harry’s steady gaze. 

"You’re a ghost. Nothing will happen as long as Zayn doesn’t try to get rid of us all again." He closes his lids, rubbing tired knuckles over them. 

"Right." Louis doesn’t want to ask, because he is glad Harry is still here and it’d be the saddest thing in the world to come back to the house only to find them all gone, to find Harry gone, but he is so curious. "Why hasn’t he though? Zayn was very forward with his… witch medium talk." 

"He was exhausted. The whole demon affair was too much for him. He made a mistake, he said. He spoke one wrong word because he was nervous and… well, it didn’t do anything but let her come to us and then she was free to do whatever. It was meant to hold her still and stuff but instead of casting a binding spell he…" Harry’s forehead wrinkles, "dunno. It’s better to ask him anyway. I wasn’t really… there either, you know? Everything from that night is a blur. It happened so fast and I went nuts in the living room not knowing what was happening upstairs. Louis —" Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs, "I heard _ your _ screams, _ her _ screams — it was the most awful sound I have ever heard in my life." 

It takes a moment for Louis to reply. 

"It was painful," Louis says, "really fucking painful that night. I was there, you know? I was standing by your side watching myself doing all those things. I tried talking, but nobody saw or heard me. Well, the demon did, but honestly fuck her — she doesn’t count." He sets his jaw. His teeth click together, and he grinds them. 

"I’m s—" 

"No," Louis sends Harry a glare.

Harry snaps his mouth shut.

"No, stop saying you’re bloody sorry because it doesn’t make it any better. It’s done. I died. It wasn’t your fault. I’m not even sorry — I came back, didn’t I? So…" Louis trails off, not knowing really how to finish that sentence.

It hits him that he has just said that he isn’t sorry that he died. Perhaps Harry is right and he hasn’t processed it at all. Harry has had time to mourn his death — his family is at his bloody _ funeral _ for fuck’s sake. He fists his hair. Yes, okay, he isn’t over his death, fucking fine. Seeing Harry is a relief, and it’s such a relief to be back at the house, too. But he died. He fucking died. He is dead, currently being buried somewhere and — 

Louis sobs, curling into a comma as his frame shakes violently. He died. He died. He died. That’s all he can think about at this very moment. It’s as if he has realised his reality only just now. He clenches his eyes shut as he drowns in his sadness. He died. He died. He died. He died. 

Strong arms wrap about him, swallowing him whole and holding him tight. It does little to comfort him, yet Louis doesn’t want it any other way. He heaves and pants, crying into Harry’s neck as he makes soothing noises and rocks their bodies from side to side. There are kisses planted to his head and temples. Louis fists more of the fabric of Harry’s black shirt. 

"I’ve got you, Lou. Let it out… let it out…" Harry whispers, his voice nearly drowned out by Louis’ awful, heartbreaking cries. "It will be fine, I promise. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you, baby. Everything will be fine, I promise. I promise you." 

Louis doubts it, but still he hopes that Harry is right. 

* * * 

It takes a long while for Louis to calm down and when he does, it’s just in time for the gate to open and a car to roll into the driveway. 

"You don’t have to be seen if you don’t want to," Harry whispers, stroking his back. "We can stay outside until you’re ready." 

Louis wipes tears off his skin, blinking up at the house. He doesn’t see anyone but he hears the doors of the car shutting. There is a tug in his gut, then a nervous swirl. 

His family is in reach, so close to him, and yet there is something keeping him in Harry’s arms — fear of a bad reaction maybe or… of rejection. Louis gulps, he hadn’t thought of that possibility at all, only his own desire to see his mum and sister. 

"Niall is here, too. Maybe that’s a bit much for now?" 

"Harry, what if they don’t want to see me?" Louis voices his fears aloud.

To his utter surprise, Harry’s chest vibrates with chuckles.

Louis looks at him with wide eyes.

Harry shrugs, leaning forward and kissing his nose. "Silly, of course they want to see you." 

"Are you sure?" Louis shoots the house an uncertain look. His heart is sitting in his throat, pulsing violently.

"Positive," Harry says, his breath fanning over Louis’ ear. "I can come with you or you can go in alone, whatever you’d prefer." 

"What the fuck, no way. You’re coming with me. I can’t handle it all by myself," Louis starts chewing his bottom lip, his hand clammy in Harry’s. 

"Okay," Harry says easily. "I can come with you. If that’s what you want." 

"It is," Louis confirms with a nod, though he doesn’t feel any less shaky about his decision. 

"Then let’s clean you up a bit." 

Louis closes his eyes as Harry swipes his shirt over his face to get rid of the evidence of their cry fest. Harry’s fingers pick at a few strands of his hair, brushing his fringe to the side. Then there is a soft kiss pressed to Louis’ cheek. Louis lets his lashes flutter open, smiling slightly.

"Thanks." 

"Ready?" 

"No." Louis gets up anyway. 

They walk slowly towards the house, taking their time. Louis is a sweaty mess by the time they reach the sliding door. 

This is it, he thinks, swallowing as he lets Harry go inside first. He is close behind him, taking his hand as Harry crosses his arm behind his lower back. Louis feels like a duckling following Harry through the kitchen in the direction of all of the voices. 

In the foyer by the stairs, hidden and out of sight, Harry hugs him close to his chest, telling him that it’s fine and everything will be just that. He assures him that no matter what happens in the living room, Harry will be there, will be here forever for Louis, with him. 

Louis nods. His mind understands that, but his heart… not so much. It is beating uncontrollably now, like it wants to find a way out of his body and take the easy road far away from here. 

This is what he wanted though: to see his mother, to see Lottie, and to see Niall, at least one last time. That thought is what grounds him in the end.

Harry’s hand leading him towards the living room is an anchor. He lets himself be guided, hidden from view behind Harry’s back. He concentrates on Harry’s shoulder blades, the way the fabric of his shirt moves, and how his hair curls at his nape. 

The voices subside as Harry stands in the doorway. Only Niall seems happy to see him and greets him with a fond _ 'hi Harry'. _ For a stupid moment, Louis is confused about the sad lilt in Niall’s voice and he could facepalm because _ seriously _ , they just went to bury _ his body, _ fuck. He didn’t think this through. Niall doesn’t even know about _ ghosts _.

It’s too late, because his mother is saying that Harry isn’t welcome, and then Harry is stepping to the side and Louis jumps into the cold, freezing water. 

Nobody makes a sound. 

All eyes are fixed on him as if he were onstage. The same fucking stage-fright kicks in and sets his nerves on fire. He knows, looking around the stunned faces, that he made a mistake. He should have waited. 

They, too, needed more time to process. It’s not just him. He is interrupting their grieving process. This was a bad idea. He was selfish. Fuck. He should have waited. This is bad, so bad. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. Why didn’t he think this through? Why did he just act? Why didn’t Harry stop him? Shit. It’s too late to back out. He still isn’t breathing. Why can’t he breathe? This is so b—

"_ Oh my god _," Lottie exhales, gripping her fiancés hand for support.

Harry’s knuckle nudges Louis’ hip and brings him out of his frozen state. He blinks rapidly, swallowing around the rock that is lodging his throat.

"Hi," Louis says thickly, his voice high-pitched. He doesn’t know where to go from here. Everyone is fucking silent and a white noise presses itself through his eardrums. His heart is racing and sweat breaks out of his pores. 

Jay’s wide eyes flicker from him to Harry and back. Her hand covers her agape mouth, the awful picture of disbelieving shock clearly etched on her ashen features. 

"L-Louis?" She stands up, and although her frame is shaking, she is the first to have come to terms with the fact that her dead son is standing in the doorway next to his dead boyfriend. "Louis… Louis…" she comes rushing over to him and before he knows it, her arms are pulling him into a tight embrace, like Harry did before. Her hands grab random parts of his body as if to make sure he is really standing in front of her, that he is real and not something her mind made up.

"Hi mum," Louis whispers, choked up. Tears form in his eyes. He pulls her back against his front as she sobs into his shoulder. 

"My boy, my beautiful boy. Oh my god, L-Louis. Oh thank god you came back! We didn’t know. I was hoping, every day… but so much time had passed and we — Louis, thank god you’re here. You’re here… you came back…" 

Louis shuts out the world and they both cry in each other’s arms. Out of the blue, a million other arms are around both of them, embracing Jay and Louis as they gather together in a big group hug. He smells the familiar smell of Lottie’s perfume and senses Niall’s body heat pressed against his right side. He inhales deeply and exhales brokenly, his body quivering with hoarse sobs. 

When they all part, Lottie pulls him against her, whispering curses under her breath and suddenly he is pulled out of her arms and to Niall, who sloppily kisses his forehead. 

Then, Matt pats his back, smiling teary-eyed at him. To his surprise, he sees Zayn and Liam both standing by the telly, probably giving the small family their reunion time before it’s their turn. 

"I can’t believe this," Lottie whispers as Jay goes to cry into Matt’s shoulder, hopefully in relief.

Louis still is wary of everything, scared to be sent away now that he is a ghost like Harry. His gaze is drawn to Lottie, her blue eyes resembling his own, her bleached blonde hair in a stern ponytail, and her figure dressed in all black. "I didn’t believe a word when Niall told me that Harry is a ghost? And now… I’m—" she shakes her head, taking a gathering breath. 

Louis sends Harry a questioning look.

Harry shrugs. "This house is too small for so many secrets," he says. "I thought it was okay to tell your best mate… I still had hope on that first day." 

"He was right to hope," Niall grins with an easy, very Niall-like shrug.

"Louis," Harry catches his attention, "did you really think I’d let you walk into a room full of people who believe you’re gone for good?" He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "I might be stupid but… c’mon." He rolls his eyes light heartedly. "Gimme some credit, babe." 

Louis dares to grin, his chest so much lighter. "I can’t believe this." 

"Man, this is so cool," Niall says, taking his forearm and making Louis’ limp hand wiggle in the air as if he were a doll. "You’re like… normal. That’s sick, so sick man. We should film a haunted house vlog!" 

Niall’s words are a relief and a bubble of love bursts in his chest. Yes, they cried but Niall makes it sound so normal, like Louis has only gotten a new tattoo or something, not that he has died and come back as a ghost.

Louis laughs. It’s a bubbly, wet sound and he can’t help but embrace his best mate again. Niall, the best hugger in this bloody universe, is quick to react and presses close, petting Louis’ hair. 

"A haunted house vlog, huh?" Louis asks as he withdraws, wiping below his eyes. This time they are happy tears. 

"Imagine how cool that’d be…" Niall shakes his head, then frowns. "I mean you don’t look really scary though." 

"I can’t be seen on camera anyway." 

"Even better," Niall grins. “That will make it super spooky!”

Louis smiles. Lottie’s hand is in his left hand and his whole world is in his right hand. Harry smiles at him and Louis can see the happiness shining through his eyes. He sweeps his gaze over to his mother, seeing pure joy on her face, a reflection of his own inner spiritual being. 

He now can feel with his entire heart that everything will turn out alright. 

He has his family and he has Harry. That is all he could ever hope for. 

He made it home.

At this very moment, Louis is _ happy _. 

* * * 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH? I don't even know how to properly express myself, I'm a bit choked up myself. 
> 
> I truly enjoyed writing this chapter so much, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it just as much - comments and kudos are always, always welcome and very loved. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading - there is only one chapter left, and that's the promised Happy Ending!
> 
> love you, stay safe! xxx


	20. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Reading, enjoy! x

**[playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ktqAgbB6MSZFVcI1Kq7CY?si=78rUNzVhRxiJHnUvAhjwRA%20)**

*** * * **

Louis is seated between Harry and Niall at the large dining table. The room is set in a wonderful, homey, cozy orange glow which comes from the candle lights that flicker happily. Across from him, Lottie smiles brightly at him. Next to her is her fiancé Tommy and at the far end Matt is talking quietly to Zayn, Liam nodding along to whatever it is they are talking about. Even Amber has joined them, though she is still very shy and quiet, watching everyone with skittish green eyes. When Louis catches her gaze, he pulls a funny face and sticks his tongue out. It does the trick to lighten her expression. She giggles cutely, hiding behind her brown, wavy chestnut hair. 

The Christmas tree is placed in the centre of the dining room just behind Matt’s back, on a little rug that is covered with a million gifts. It’s the day before Christmas which also means it’s Louis’ twenty-first birthday, so they are all gathered together for his birthday dinner. 

Niall will be catching a flight in the morning to go home for the holidays, but he will come back here for New Year’s Eve. No matter how many times Louis has told him that he shouldn’t spend his New Year’s Eve in a house in the middle of nowhere and instead should celebrate it with Hannah, Perrie, Jade, and all the others in Bristol, Niall simply shakes his head. He easily replies that there is always next year for him to get wasted in the streets of Bristol but _ this _ year he wants to spend it with Louis, Harry, and Lottie. 

It warms Louis’ heart. During the few months after his death he was reminded over and over and _ over _ again why Niall is his best mate in this entire world. His easygoing personality has always been a blessing to them all when times get hard and become a bit more gloomy and dark. Niall’s optimism brings them out of the holes they dig themselves into. His amazement that ghosts exist hasn’t lessened. He is like a child that has found out _ shit Santa is fucking real, what? _ Every once in a while he lets Louis know how cool he thinks it is that Louis can teleport from one place to the other. This isn’t quite true, but Louis won’t have the heart to tell him that, ever. Louis doesn’t actually have superpowers. He can only make himself invisible when he really concentrates hard on it. Then, he’ll walk to the other side of the room and concentrate on wanting to be seen again. It’s a great party trick, and one that Niall can’t get enough of. 

It took a bit of time to practice turning into thin air. Really, Louis couldn’t get it until his curiosity and frustration overpowered his pride and he asked Harry if he could teach him how to become invisible. Harry has had years to perfect it and so it comes very easily to him. He can do it whenever he wants. However, sometimes when Louis is distracted or tired or whatever, he accidentally makes himself only half-invisible and half-seen. This set his mother off in high-pitched screams as her son’s lower body walked past her in the hallway. Another time, when he was trying to get the _ Rolling Stones _ magazine that they subscribed to for Harry without bothering to put on clothes, he forgot to focus on his head, so only his head floated through the air as he walked by, causing Matt to choke on his morning tea. 

The tricky thing about it is, he never entirely knows if it has worked or not. He can only tell based on his family’s reaction. By now, Louis is getting pretty skilled at it. He has had a few months to work on his attention span and practice not getting distracted as often by the tickling sensation that drips from his hairline to his toes. 

Obviously, it’s not all rainbows and sunshine. Cool party tricks aside, there have been dark moments, too. Jealousy took the upper hand when Niall got a solo gig playing at a massive street festival in Bristol around October, which is a huge deal for the city. Louis’ heart ripped in half because hey — he could have been there, too, alongside Niall, playing the guitar and singing to the biggest crowd _ ever. _ But he died and so that’s out of the picture. There won’t be a next year that he can attend or two years after that. He can’t attend ever and it will stay that way forever. 

Harry is gentle with him in those times. He tries to turn the situation around, saying that Louis should be happy for Niall for making it so far. He reminds Louis why Niall even made it to one of the biggest, most amazing street festivals in Bristol — because of Louis. 

How did this happen? _ Well _ , after Louis’ death, Niall posted an entire monologue about Louis and how lovely he was, yada, _ yada _ — Niall better have only written lovely things about him since he was sitting next to Louis as he scribbled it on paper. After that video, their channel blew up. More viewers came to their channel to mourn over Louis’ death in the comments, saying, _ 'another legend gone too soon' _ and what a _ talented _ guy he was and how _ cute _ he looked when he swept his fringe to the side and _ whatnot _. It was an ego boost, both heartwarming and heart-shattering all at the same time.

People who didn’t even know him are saddened by what happened to him in the summer, sending private messages over Twitter to Niall to declare how sorry they were about his loss. Then letters arrived from university shortly after his small private funeral. Some friends reached out to his family, and Perrie even stopped by. She still doesn’t know he is a ghost, though. They didn’t want to tell too many people because it would increase the risk of exposing the ghost community and setting wild ghost hunters out for them. 

Jay said that when she came back from his grave one day, some girls were at the graveyard too and they told her how sorry they were about what happened to her son. Niall guesses that they were fans who literally drove out to Louis' bloody grave to speak a few words. Louis can’t wrap his mind around what his death has caused, how many lives he has touched with those silly music videos he and Niall made.

After their channel blew up, it caught the attention of a music agency. They reached out to Niall and after a long phone call, invited him to play at the street festival along with other nameless artists, basically on a whim. And that’s it, that’s how his best mate ended up on a stage in front of _ thousands _ of people. 

After his show ended, he bombed Louis with messages and phone calls, talking a mile a minute and retelling every detail from the show like how hot the lights were onstage and how loud everything was. He was giddy and excited and his mood was infectious; Louis couldn’t help but grin widely and finally overcome every ill emotion he had held towards Niall, becoming more and more happy for his friend. 

Thankfully, Niall made Perrie promise to film the entire performance so that he could send it to Louis, letting him become a part of it in the only way possible. He and Harry spent hours re-watching it, first with mourning hearts — Louis cried a few times — and then with happiness. As the hours wore on, Louis found himself only feeling fucking proud and happy for his friend. His heart shuddered every time he watched Niall call out to him at the end of the video, saying a few words about angels in heaven and that the last song is for Louis and Louis only. 

However, Louis hasn’t given up his dream of being a singer even in the afterlife. He and Harry entertain the ghosts at the pub once a month when the moon rises high on the black sky, shining in its round form. The ghosts love it. Well, it took them around two full moons to like them, since some of them still held a grudge against Harry and threw beer and peanuts at them when first they went on top of the bar to sing. But now they are welcomed by the ghosts when they bring their guitar and hop onto the bar counter, singing until their voices are hoarse and their cheeks are red. It’s always amazing and it brings them all a bit closer to life. It’s the best thing in this world and gives Louis an adrenaline kick that he thought he would never experience again.

Niall, Lottie, and even Jay and Matt joined them in November and loved their little stage performance. It’s the most fun Louis has ever had and for a few hours, he and Harry can pretend to be more than ghost singers singing to a ghost audience. When they are done, there is always a massively loud round of applause, cheers, and whistles. 

Under the storm of noise, when it’s the loudest, Louis will draw Harry into a kiss. If he doesn’t, the crowd will remind them by chanting, _ 'kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss' _ until they shrug at one another before falling into each other’s arms, usually giggling too much to kiss properly, their teeth clicking together and lips stretched in smiles. It’s lovely. 

Of course, Harry is the biggest reward in coming back to life that Louis could have ever asked for. Since Louis became a ghost, they have become even closer. Harry understood all of the emotions that Louis was going through as he slowly came to terms with how his life would be from now on. 

They talk a lot, and when the world dips into a nice blue around them, they cuddle in bed, holding each other and whispering secrets and confessions. Most days, they watch movies and TV shows and play with Amber in the garden by the river. Louis taught her to play football and she now is even better than Harry — which doesn’t say much; even as a ghost, he is fucking clumsy with the ball, kicking the air nine out of ten times and stumbling, eating grass to the sound of laughter from his sister and Louis. At some point Louis will take pity on him and help him up, asking if he’s okay and if he needs a moment. But in Harry’s defence, Amber is playing dirty, becoming invisible the moment Louis tries to take the ball from her. Playing against someone you can’t see has proven difficult at best, unbearable at worst. It’s all good fun though and Harry doesn’t mind watching his sister kick Louis’ arse on the field, cheering them on when his bones have run out of energy and his knees are stained with dirt and mud. That, too, is lovely and Louis wouldn’t have it any other way. His heart melts every time Amber does so much as interact with her brother. Louis can see how happy it makes Harry to have finally bonded with his little sister again. 

Louis’ eyes cut from Amber to Jay as his mum gets up from the table and retreats into the kitchen to check on the food.

Jay is still very much pregnant, growing rounder by the day. She is glowing and beautiful. Louis thinks it must be the happiest he has ever seen his mother. Matt is taking great care of her and their unborn twins — because holy shit, Louis isn’t only expecting _ one _ baby sibling, but _ two _. 

Louis’ attention is drawn to Matt, who’s laughing loudly at whatever has been said.

Matt’s business is doing well. People come from far and wide to get their cars fixed at his workshop. Louis’ relationship with his stepdad is stable, though sometimes still a bit wary. Matt is okay with the fact that he is a ghost but sad nonetheless. Louis guesses it’s because his brother didn’t come back and so he might be blaming himself for it. Plus, he confessed to Louis one quiet night when they had a rare moment alone that he should have been there and that if he hadn’t gone to help his friend move out of his house on that Saturday night, he could have saved Louis. He couldn’t have, though, and Louis tells him as much. If Zayn couldn’t save Louis, nor Harry, nor a skilled priest who has done countless exorcisms, then neither could a man who didn’t know that ghosts existed in the first place, let alone witches and demons. 

Next, Louis looks over at where Zayn is sitting next to Liam, the back of his head bedded on Liam’s shoulder.

The boy is a blessing to Louis, too. Not only did Harry and Zayn have a talk about their history of hating one another, but Zayn also apologised for not minding his own business and for trying to get rid of Harry and his family. Since he talked to his dead mother, things have cleared up. He said that he wouldn’t have gone after Harry if he had known beforehand. They both remind him that if he didn’t, the demon would still be living with them in the house and Louis wouldn’t have had a chance to make it back as a ghost. Still, Zayn promises to make it up to them and starts experimenting with spells that might be able to untie them from the house and let them walk around the earth as free ghosts. He studies his family’s spell books, going deep into the land of witches, ghosts, and demons as he tries to find a loophole he can use to make it happen. He met a witch from a town over who came to his store to buy some fresh herbs for a potion; they got to talking and now she is helping him try to figure it out, too. Harry and Louis pray every night that they will. So far, they haven’t. But no one is giving up hope now that the possibility is out there.

Liam and Louis obviously can’t go on their morning runs together any longer, but Liam works out with Harry in the garden while Zayn and Louis smoke, sitting on the rocks by the river and watching their boyfriends compete against one another. It’s always fun to watch, seeing Liam struggle against Harry, who as his sister does, likes to play dirty. He will disappear and appear randomly, confusing Liam in their ongoing boxing match. 

It has been an eventful few months in his afterlife, so to say, from getting used to being a ghost and realising that he will be there forever to finding peace with it in Harry’s arms. He finds joy living an extraordinary yet ordinary life in this house. 

Louis glances around, his lips stretching on their own as he looks in the faces of his favourite people in the world. 

"I hope you guys are hungry," his mother interrupts their quiet chatter, everyone falling silent.

Their eyes wander to her standing in the doorway with a huge plate between her hands as the smell of delicious roast beef fills the air. Matt stands up from his seat, hurrying over to his wife to take the plate from her. He kisses her hair before putting the plate in the middle of the table, which is set with fine china. Next to it are bowls with mashed potatoes, beans, carrots, gravy, roasted onions, and cranberries. 

It all smells and looks amazing. Louis’ mouth waters at the sight. It has been a month since he was able to eat something and tonight, his birthday, being a full moon is just the most perfect thing that has happened to Louis. It’s the best birthday gift he could have asked for, as if God or the universe is trying to make it up to him.

Jay takes a seat at the other end of the table, raising her water glass at Louis and smiling brightly.

"My baby turned twenty-one today," his mother says, her voice trembling with emotion, "and I am so beyond happy to have you here. You coming back is a wonder and a blessing." Oh no, there are unshed tears in her eyes now.

Louis squirms in his chair. A hand sneaks over his thigh, hidden under the table, squeezing in comfort. His mother’s pregnancy is causing her to be overly emotional at all times, tearing up randomly or hugging him to her chest whenever he is close enough. She declares her undying motherly love to him whenever she gets a chance, but Louis guesses it could be worse. He smiles at her softly, bedding his hand on top of Harry’s and tracing over his knuckles to ground himself and not get teary-eyed as his mother is. 

"Time flies and my babies are proof of that. I remember when you were born, both of you," her eyes flicker from Louis to Lottie, "and look at you, all grown up. Oh, it’s bittersweet," she sighs, dabbing a napkin over her cheekbones. "And in addition to our now very large family clan," she raises the glass first to Niall, who cheers, then to Harry, who stiffens next to Louis with a small gasp. Louis smiles at him warmly, feeling his heart swooping. She turns to look at Zayn and Liam before her eyes land on Amber and her expression softens even more. "I never thought I would be a mother to so many children, but I wouldn’t want to have it any other way." 

Yes, that has happened, too — every single one of Louis’ friends has spent so much time at this house that they’ve become part of the family. Niall has one of the guest rooms as his own room now, Harry and Louis share a bed, and Zayn and Liam are welcome to stay whenever they please in one of the other remaining guest rooms. Amber, of course, has her own room now, too. It’s right next to Jay’s and Matt’s bedroom because sometimes she can’t sleep and feels safer knowing that Jay is close by. It’s also not uncommon for a small knock to wake Louis and Harry in the middle of the night if Amber wants to sleep near her brother.

Everyone likes to joke how lucky they are that this house is so big. Just like a family, all of them meet to eat dinner together in the evening and breakfast in the morning. Amber, Harry, and Louis always join them, unable to eat but enjoying everyone’s company and the feeling of home nonetheless. Jay has apologised for how she treated Harry a million times by now and has accepted him with open arms. 

They had grown close as she watched Harry be there for Louis, helping him to adjust to his new life. One summer evening she had even pulled him to the side to talk privately. Louis remembers waiting anxiously on the bed in his room until Harry came back, crying. Louis had been ready to fight his pregnant mother for what she had done to him after everything they all went through, but it wasn’t necessary. It turned out Jay and Harry had talked about his horrific past. After Louis, she was one of the first people Harry opened up to and she became something of a second mother to him ever since. Louis sometimes finds them quietly talking in the kitchen before anyone else is up or baking biscuits together on a rainy Saturday. 

The same goes for Amber, of course. She is still very much reserved but feels drawn to Jay. Harry and Louis sometimes find them doing puzzles or drawing in picture books that Jay bought for her at the grocery store. Other times his mother will read to her out of the old books Louis dug up from the basement.

Jay is blooming in her motherly role to each and every one of them. When she heard that Zayn’s parents had died, she was out of her mind with worry for the boy and brought him leftovers from dinner until Zayn and Liam came over instead, bringing fresh herbs from Zayn’s garden and home-brewed tea. It has been a tradition ever since.

"Hear, hear!" Niall chirps, grinning widely at Jay before turning to direct his smile at Louis. 

They all clink their glasses in joyful cheers.

After that they fall into the happy birthday song. Niall sings the loudest and Harry sings extra off-key, making Lottie giggle her verses. Louis blushes, not knowing who to look at. He settles on concentrating on Harry’s hand in his and grinning bashfully at his plate. There is a round of applause, Tommy and Niall thumping their fists against the table while the girls clap their hands. Louis hides his face in Harry’s shoulder, feeling a quick peck dropped to the top of his head. A wonderful, warm feeling overcomes him in this very moment. Everyone who he loves is with him and loves him in return — as human or ghost, it doesn’t matter. Louis is fucking happy. 

He grins at the group when silence falls over the table. "Thank you guys, for everything. For being there for me in this… weird time, I’d say. I couldn’t ask for more," he says, his neck red and his fingers sweaty in Harry’s. "I love you all so much. Thank you." 

His sister coos at him across the table, dabbing below her blue eyes. Oddly enough, she has taken his death the hardest. Louis had expected his mother to avoid him for a while after coming to terms that her son had died, but no, it was Lottie who needed time to process it. When the relief of seeing him again had worn off, she was quiet and awkward around him and he left her alone until the last day of her stay in the house. They had a long talk, loads of tears were shed, and at the end both of their hearts were lighter. Yet, Lottie had still looked pale, tired, and sad when she departed from them the next day. Louis guesses it’s partly because he can’t attend her wedding like he should be able to, plus of course she is reminded of his death through 'fans' reaching out to her or her classmates telling her how sad they are on her behalf. 

He is sure that she will come around at some point fully. At least she has taken a liking to Harry and Amber. Amber is fascinated by her bleach blonde hair and when Louis voiced this to Harry, Harry guessed Amber is smitten with Lottie because she is the opposite of that demon monster, someone she can see as a role model and maybe at some point as her sister, too. It’s strange how their families click like puzzle pieces, but it’s wonderful nonetheless. 

Louis smiles at everyone and gets blinding smiles in return. 

"Well, enjoy your meal, everyone!" Matt says, clapping once. "It looks wonderful, honey." 

Jay blushes.

Nobody has to be told twice, everyone serving themselves a heap of food. Louis’ plate ambitiously piles up until it matches the mountain of Niall’s plate. Harry isn’t too shy either. They both have been gushing about Louis’ birthday dinner ever since they found out it would be a full moon. Louis hadn’t known this as Harry never told him before, but ghosts aren’t just allowed to explore the world for one night a month. Their bodies are able to experience human senses like tasting food and being able to digest it or getting drunk on booze. 

"I love you," Harry says as he passes him the bread. 

Louis grins at him, taking two slices. "I love you," he murmurs back. 

The meal is delicious, as he expected it would be. Louis can’t repress a groan as he takes his first bite of roast and mashed potatoes. No, it’s not just delicious — this is the best thing he has ever tasted in his goddamn life, his taste buds exploding as his senses awake out of their month-long slumber. Harry, too, hums around a mouthful. Niall is eating with his entire body, bread crumbs falling onto his clothes, mashed potato covering part of his bottom lip, and something brownish sticking to the tip of his nose. 

"Best meal ever, hands down. Honestly, Jay!" he says between two hasty bites.

His mother laughs, pleased. She shakes her head and gives him a napkin. Niall blushes when she tells him that he has a bit of roast in his hair and wipes his face furiously. 

Louis giggles as he sees Lottie crinkle her nose at Niall’s manners. In turn, Louis throws a single bean at her, hitting her right on the forehead. She throws a piece of bread back at him and they are only stopped by Matt clearing his throat and declaring that he doesn’t care if it’s Louis’ birthday, he will make them both eat in the driveway if they don’t behave. Louis would take him more seriously if it weren’t for his amused smile. But, not wanting to waste any more of the food that his mother stood in the kitchen for the entire fucking day, Louis and Lottie apologise in unison to their mum who shakes her head with a mock-stern expression on her face. Her expression softens and they all eat the rest of dinner in peace without another food fight erupting. 

When they are done, they gather in the living room. It’s a real tight fit with so many people around, but they make it work. Louis and Harry sit on the ground, their bums pillowed by cushions from the outdoor couch. Matt and Jay sit on the two-seater sofa with Lottie and Tommy flanking them on each of the armrests. Niall has taken over the armchair and Liam and Zayn brought chairs from the kitchen, now arranged so they are sitting across from each other at either side of the coffee table. Amber is the only one standing now, a nervous glint in her eyes as if she doesn’t know where to sit. Before Louis can call her to him and offer her his seat — since Harry’s lap would work fine for him, too — Jay pats the spot between her and Matt. It only takes a moment for Amber to go sit silently between them, a tiny smile on her lips.

The coffee table is plastered with gifts and honestly Louis didn’t have any wishes for his birthday since he already got what he wanted: Harry, his family, and his friends. Plus a great meal on a full moon, all in one day, all together. It’s all he could ask for, really. So when the first questions about what he wanted came up, he shrugged and threw in a few jokes about needing a new morning robe or socks, but that apparently wouldn’t do for his friends and family. 

"Go on, open them!" Niall calls, excitement bright on his face. "Whatcha waiting for?" 

Louis turns a bit red as all eyes are on him. He loves being the centre of attention, but just like having _ 'happy birthday' _sung to him, it’s always awkward opening presents in front of everyone. 

"If you insist…" Louis faux-grumbles. Taking the first wrapped package off the table, he turns it in his hands. 

"That’s from me!" Liam chirps.

Louis throws him a quick smile before opening it. "_ No _ ," Louis groans, rolling his eyes at his friend, "you _ cannot _ be serious, Liam." 

Apparently Liam expected this exact reaction and Zayn did too, because they both fall into delighted laughter at his expression. 

"What is it?" Jay asks, curiously. 

"It’s a bloody work-out DVD," Louis chuckles, shaking his head with a smile.

Harry snorts next to him, giving Liam a thumbs up and a much-too-bright smile. Traitor. 

"Well, at least now you can’t die anymore, right?" Zayn raises his brows. 

"No excuses left," Liam adds with a too-pleased expression painted blissfully on his face. 

Harry finds this all very funny, giggling along. The others don’t really get the joke, sharing confused gazes. 

"Don’t worry, I’ll do it with you," Harry says, kissing his cheek. 

"Yeah, at least it’s not running, right?" Louis says, shaking his head, a reluctant but amused smile curling his lips. Directed at Liam he adds, "Thank you _ so _ much, mate." 

The next gift he opens is from Lottie and Tommy. It’s a collection of his favourite artists on CD, from _ Queen _ to _ Arctic Monkeys _ to _ The Vampire Weekend _ and _ The Killers _ — everything is in the mix, and each CD comes with a DVD of live recordings and the bands in concert. Lottie explains that since he can’t go to see them live anymore, this is probably the closest he’ll get to experience them in concert ever. It’s such a simple gift, yet so thoughtful and clever that Louis feels a bit choked up as he holds the stack in his hands. He goes to hug his sister, telling her thousand and more thank yous, and they both are teary-eyed when they part.

Tommy gives him a high five and a side hug, but he is a bit red in the face, too. As far as Louis can tell, he has been mostly holding in his emotions. Having experienced first hand Lottie’s pain about Louis’ death, he is still a bit awkward around Louis since they only met a few times when Louis was still alive and kicking. 

Louis goes back to his seat. 

Zayn’s gift is small and smells heavenly as Louis unwraps it. He has given him self-made candles along with herbs to burn that Zayn says will get rid of bad energy. Louis thinks this is a brilliant idea and tells him as much, thanking him too. 

To his surprise, Amber stands up and comes over to him next, wordlessly opening her palm to reveal a tiny marigold flower. She gives it to him and smiles, swaying in place as she laces her fingers together in front of her white dress. Louis is speechless, his heart having melted into a puddle inside his chest as he takes the flower from her. It’s unexpected and sweet and he suddenly doesn’t know if he can speak because his voice has drowned in the bottom of his tummy. He clears his throat, but before he can thank her, he gets choked up again as she hugs him around the shoulders. 

“Thank you, darling,” Louis murmurs into her wavy brunette hair, patting her back. She smiles at him crookedly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Harry rub a hand over his face. As Amber takes her former seat, Louis’ hand finds Harry’s and they share a warm smile. They are both happy with how well Amber is doing these days. Her attending his birthday party tonight is a big step forward. Harry sniffs softly by his side as Louis studies the flower, wondering how long she kept it hidden since it’s now December and marigolds only come out when the sun is out.

It’s wonderful. Louis gives her a smile from across the table. Amber wiggles her fingers at him and he pulls another one of those faces that she adores so much. Just like before, it coaxes a giggle out of her. 

Jay pets Amber’s hair and Louis gathers his emotions, directing his attention to the final gift on the coffee table. 

It’s the biggest gift and of course it is from Jay and Matt. It feels heavy in Louis’ lap. His eyebrows lift at them in surprise and his fingers twitch in the air, hovering over the wrapped package. His mother shrugs coyly at him. 

"Open it and find out," Matt says, leaning forward to have a better look. 

Harry nudges his shoulder. "Don’t make it so dramatic…" he stage-whispers. 

And, well — 

It’s… it’s a guitar.

Not just _ any _ guitar but a _ Jaguar PF TPL _ from the _ Fender Player series _with a fine Pau Ferro neck. It’s bluish-greenish colour and feels slick under his fingertips. His eyes widen, round with shock and surprise. 

"Do you like it? Niall helped pick it out. Harry had a look at it, too. We didn’t know. We can take it back if it’s not the right one and you can have a look yourself. We really won’t be mad," his mother rambles as Louis stares in wonder at the guitar in his lap. 

"Fuck…" he breathes, "this is amazing? What the hell, mum? Matt?" His head shoots up to look at them, excitement tickling the pads of his fingers. 

His mother sighs in relief.

Louis jumps out of his seat — well, he jumps out of his seat very _ carefully _ — and Harry takes the guitar from him with gentle fingers so that Louis is free to round the coffee table and pull his mother in a bone-crushing hug, minding her belly. He kisses the top of her hair as she smiles at him.

"Do you like it?" she asks. 

"Pshhhh, like it? _ Nah _ ," Louis shakes his head, still stunned, "I love it. This is _ sick _. Thank you guys so much." 

He hugs Matt too, who is a bit stiff at first but then pats his back, not used to Louis’ affection just yet. Jay and Matt both look rather pleased with themselves as Louis goes back to Harry, taking the guitar and running his fingertips over the design. It’s the most amazing thing he has ever held in his hands. Louis feels touched, very much so. 

"I wanna have a go at it later," Niall chirps, grinning from ear to ear as if he has been gifted the guitar himself. 

"Ah no, it’s my turn first," Harry sticks his tongue out at him. 

"No way. Hey, I’m his best mate here, I mean —"

Harry raises his eyebrows. 

Louis shakes his head at both of them, fondness purring like a cat in his chest. The love he has for every single person in this room is overwhelming. It’s his favourite birthday ever. He swallows thickly, leaning more into Harry’s side for support and taking a few shallow inhales and exhales to calm down so that he doesn’t tear up in front of everyone.

"I really wanna say something but we’re in the wrong company for it," Harry whispers, bringing Louis out of his head and coaxing a delighted snort out of Louis’ nose.

He glances at his parents briefly to see if they heard — they didn’t. Louis gives Harry a quick smirk."No time for a sex joke now," Louis whispers back.

Harry giggles, then shoots a smug look at Niall who pouts, opening and closing his mouth with a glance to Jay. 

“Anyway,” Niall says, “as nice as the guitar is, no offence Jay… Matt,” he nods to them respectfully before finding Louis’ eyes again. He pushes himself out of the armchair. “Nobody can top my present. I mean it, Harry — nobody.” 

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head in amusement at Niall who now looks very dramatic with a mysterious expression colouring his face. Jay and Matt share a puzzled glance, which means even they don’t know what Niall got him. It seems that Harry doesn’t know either, which is quite surprising. Niall _ loves _ to talk, and usually can’t keep things hidden or secret for long. 

"What is it?" Louis asks as silence stretches around the living room. Even Amber has her eyes fixed on Niall.

His best mate grins, opening his arms as if to hug the entire room. "Remember when I did that street gig in Bristol?" 

How could Louis forget? He nods for Niall to go on and spit it out. 

"Anyway, you know who was in the crowd? Well, eh, backstage?"

"Tell me," Louis smiles, propping himself up with his palms behind his back. He wiggles his left thigh up and down in anticipation. 

"Oh you won’t believe this," Niall cackles, holding his stomach. His eyes wander over everyone’s face, enjoying their eager expressions. "Ed Sheeran! Ed bloody fucking amazing Sheeran watched me perform!" 

"That’s amazing," Louis lifts his eyebrows, happy yet sad at the same time. This is huge and he is happy for Niall, but… what does this have to do with his birthday? Niall isn’t someone who likes to rub things in, so it leaves Louis feeling a tad befuddled.

"And _ then _," Niall inhales, his cheeks turning so red now that he resembles a tomato, "he apparently checked out our YouTube channel and heard the song… your song that I sung—" 

Right, Niall had pestered Louis to let him cover _ 'I like the way this is going' _until Louis had no other choice but to give in. They had recorded it in Louis' bedroom. It felt weird hearing Niall sing the song he had written for Harry. It was his song declaring his love so… it was awkward at first, but Louis can’t lie, Niall sang it with all his heart and made a wonderful cover. The cover was so good that it caused both Harry and Louis to tear up a bit. 

"_ I like the way this is going, _" Louis nods, his eyebrows now having disappeared under his fringe. "So…" he tilts his head sideways. 

"So, he fucking _ loved _ it!" Niall jumps in the air, buzzing with energy. "He _ loved _ it and asked who wrote it so I told him — well after I cried for an hour straight, I mean it’s Ed Sheeran, innit — that it was written by you. Well I couldn’t quite tell him that you’re a ghost now, but he read the post I made about how sad I was about your death —" Niall takes a grand inhale, the following exhale stuttering as he gets more and more worked up. "Anyway," he says, pointedly, "he fucking wants to buy that song? Your song? Ed fucking Sheeran wants to sing the song you wrote. Do you know how _ big _ this is? He is an artist himself, I mean he writes his music himself, but he stumbled across it and —" 

Louis doesn’t hear more than that. His heart is hammering against his ribcage. He stares at Niall, not quite understanding what is happening, what Niall is saying.

Harry grips his shoulder for support. 

Louis blinks out of his stare to see Niall watching him with sheer excitement, waiting for a reaction of some sorts.

"Ed Sheeran wants to cover my song? Wants to buy my song?" Louis asks with a hoarse, disbelieving voice. His mind is spinning. 

"_ Yes! _" Niall exclaims loudly. 

"Ed Sheeran… wants to…" Louis’ lips flap, moving soundlessly as he stares at Niall and Niall stares back.

Suddenly, it all snaps to him, and the room zooms in on him. He can’t remember getting to his feet but suddenly he is throwing himself at Niall, causing them both to stumble and fall back into the armchair in a knot of limbs and hard bones, both laughing and crying maniacally. Louis feels dizzy. 

"Ed Sheeran wants to buy my fucking song!" Louis screams into Niall’s ear as Niall cackles below him, holding him tight around the middle. 

"Yes, mate! S’all true, the man himself wants your song! It’s bloody amazing, that’s what it is!" 

"Fuck, _ fuck… _" Louis shakes his head, blinking at Niall in awe.

Niall grins up at him, pure bliss reflected in his sunny blue eyes.

"I can’t believe this. What the fuck? Niall? _ What the fuck? _ " Louis is a hot sweaty mess. A hot sweaty mess whose song will be covered by Ed Sheeran. Fuck. Fuck. He is going to _ die _ — eh, wait. 

"Happy Birthday, Louis," Niall says, kissing his cheek sloppily. 

_Yes, yes_, Louis thinks, _happy birthday to me._ _Holy fucking shit_. 

* * * 

"We have to get ready…" Louis’ whisper turns into a moan as Harry nibbles on his neck, causing his words of warning to lose their meaning completely. He clenches his eyes shut as Harry’s hips roll into his, their clothed groins lining up. Sparks of pleasure shoot up from the base of his spine. "_ F-fuck… _" Louis’ jaw slackens. Harry’s breath is hot on his skin, which is now wet with saliva. 

"We’ve got a bit of time left," Harry hums, his fingers creeping teasingly under Louis’ shirt. "The others are still…" he trails off. Apparently kissing along Louis’ neck is more important than keeping track of their family and friends downstairs — not that Louis minds. "We have all the time in the world." 

That, Louis thinks, is true. He wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and loops his arm around his shoulders, bringing their bodies flush together so there is no air left between them. "_ C’mon _ then." 

Harry doesn’t have to be told twice, parting Louis’ lips with his as his tongue swipes slowly over Louis’, breathing out shallowly through his nostrils. Harry shudders against his chest as Louis squeezes his legs tighter around Harry, moving his pelvis in circles that match the sweet tempo of their kiss. 

They snog for about half a minute before Louis is sweating through his layers of clothing and displeased with the fact that Harry is wearing too much goddamn fabric as well. That just won’t do. They might have forever, but Louis grows impatient nonetheless. 

He tugs on the hem of Harry’s shirt but their lips have other plans, finding each other again and again and _ again _, not wanting to stop exploring yet. It’s delicious and Louis mewls at Harry’s bites and suckles. His shirt rides up to expose his navel, the cold metal of Harry’s trouser’s button rubbing against his warm skin. The unexpected difference in temperature causes a shiver to erupt which devours his entire body frame. He sucks in his stomach, pushing out his chest, and arching his back. Louis needs more friction; this isn’t good enough. 

"Wait…" Harry murmurs, his breath warm against Louis’ chin. He sits back, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it on the ground in a swift movement, not paying it any further attention. 

Louis’ eyes roam hungrily over his long torso, drinking in all the different tattoos. The butterfly on his stomach is still his favourite to this day. It fits Harry well and he won’t ever get tired of it. It’s perfect. Louis traces his fingertips over the outline.

Harry smiles, dimples popped out and everything. 

"How did you get all those tattoos?" Louis asks, not taking his eyes off the black ink. 

"A guy who joined us inked me while my parents were out to… _ eh _, you know," Harry wrinkles his nose, but the smile stays on his lips. 

"Right," Louis shakes his head a bit. It’s easy to forget Harry’s past and what happened to him when Harry seems so unbelievably happy and carefree as if he was always this kind of person. Louis would prefer it if it actually ever _ really _ slipped his mind, but they do like to pretend sometimes. "He did a fine job," Louis says, eyeing the butterfly. 

"I’ll make sure to tell him, someday." 

All thoughts of tattoos and ghosts and Harry’s past slip their minds as Harry helps Louis undress, black fabric joining Harry’s shirt somewhere on the ground.

"What does my birthday boy wish for, hmm?" Harry asks as he kneels between Louis’ parted — and very much naked — legs. He strokes Louis’ thighs, creeping higher until his fingers touch the hemline of Louis’ black pants. His eyes are hooded and his hair is tousled — a chaos Louis’ fingers left behind when he tugged and brushed through Harry’s curls as his tongue explored his skin as if it was the first time they ever did something like this together. 

"This," Louis states, already breathless. "You. Us. Now." 

Harry chuckles, shrugs one single shoulder as if to say, _ 'as you wish', _ then pressing his lips to Louis' tummy, leaving a wet trail behind as he nears his waistline. Louis cups the nape of Harry’s neck as Harry rolls down his underwear and his dick slaps upward, leaking, heavy, and red, throbbing with the urgent desire for release. He craves Harry’s touch so much that Louis feels close to an orgasm just by looking at Harry alone. 

Louis licks his lips as Harry nuzzles his nose to Louis’ inner thigh, wandering upward until he blows a raspberry kiss over his balls. His eyes roll back and his legs tense. Louis swallows, shivering on the mattress. Harry ignores his cock, though (which — _ rude _), instead paying greater attention to Louis’ hip bone. His tongue swirls on Louis’ skin and then he sucks the spot into his mouth, drawing blood to the surface. Louis swallows though his mouth his dry, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as Harry’s thumbs dig into the flesh of his upper thighs. 

"Harry…" he whimpers, not caring that he sounds fucking desperate. 

"Hm…" Harry’s eyes find his as Louis dips his head and opens his lashes halfway. Louis has thought it many times before and he will think it many times to come — Harry looks like a devilish angel. His curls are divine, his lazy smirk created by a force stronger than God, Satan, or anything in the universe. It has the power to make Louis squirm on the bed, twist, tense, and yearn. Every time Harry smiles this kind of smile, lustful, confident, knowing what Louis wants but still withholding it from him, it drives Louis fucking _ insane _ . His entire body — his entire _ being _ — is affected by the curve of Harry’s mouth, the way his cheeks cave with two angelic dimples.

Harry is teasing, drawing patterns on his thigh, his exhale brushing over Louis’ cock and his hair tickling his skin. 

By this point, Louis isn’t too shy to beg. He is well aware Harry enjoys their little game of push and pull. 

“Harry, please. Please, _ please _ touch me,” he murmurs, breathless. 

“I don’t know, I quite like you like this,” Harry replies, nosing along Louis’ leg. Louis’ cock twitches, and drops of pre-cum wet his tummy. “You smell good.” 

“I mean it,” Louis says, cheeks already colouring salmon pink. “I’ll, I’ll… I—” he cuts himself off with a frustrated huff. 

“You will what?” Harry mumbles into his skin. A nerve in Louis’ foot jumps as Harry’s teeth nibble on his sensitive skin.

Louis hasn’t thought this far ahead, his mind swimmy from all blood having rushed down south. 

“I don’t know,” he admits on a long breath, directing his lethargic smile at the ceiling as his boy snorts. 

“I can help with that, I think,” Harry says, propping himself up first and afterwards readjusting to a sitting position on his knees. “I’m feeling generous today.” 

Finally — _ finally _ — Harry takes his cock in his hand before leaning forward, opening his mouth wide and taking it in, his lips stretching around the head, his jaw relaxed. 

Louis groans, his hands plopping onto the mattress, fists clenching and unclenching as Harry’s warm tongue swirls around the tip. His tongue glides teasingly over the slit, making a slurping noise that causes the vein on Louis’ dick to pulse even more. A groan, loud and long, passes through his parted lips. 

Louis can’t fucking _ stand _ the teasing anymore. He rolls his hips upward.

Harry catches on quickly, hollowing his cheeks and holding his head still as Louis fucks slowly into Harry’s blissful mouth in short little movements. A stream of breathy moans escapes him as Harry cups his balls, rolling them over his wiggling fingers. Louis’ fingers curl around the sheets, but it’s not enough to release the tension in his bones. 

"_ Hmpffff… _" Louis presses out, his abs clenching. 

Harry hums and the vibration that stretches around his cock blinds Louis into hot, white pleasure for a moment. His orgasm builds in the lower backbone of his spine, his balls squeezing up. Harry presses his hips into the mattress, letting up from his cock with a sucking, wet sound and smacking his lips. 

He gives Louis a lopsided smirk, wiping spit off his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"Do you want to?" Harry asks, his already deep voice levels deeper. 

Louis doesn’t have to think twice about what he means by that. The answer is in the lustful gaze of his green, bloodshot eyes. Louis inhales deeply, nodding at last. 

Harry sticks two of his fingers into his mouth, sucking, thrusting them in and out of his mouth and maintaining eye contact whilst doing so. 

Louis is sweating, holding his breath as he watches. Who would have thought that ghosts would produce so much sweat? Not him. 

He withdraws his fingers with a pop. "Okay…" Harry murmurs, grabbing a pillow.

Louis lifts his bum off the mattress as Harry slides it underneath him. Louis adjusts himself on the pillow, his dick wiggling a bit on his tummy from the motion. 

Harry cups his chin and seals their lips together. Louis hums as he tastes himself. Harry’s index teases his rim in small circles, there, but not exactly where Louis’ wants him to be just yet. Apparently Harry wasn’t lying about wanting to take his sweet time. Although it’s true that they have forever in theory, tonight isn’t included in that deal. 

Louis’ bum tenses and he stutters a moan at the featherlike touch. After another torturing minute or so, Harry takes pity on him and slips his finger past the ring of tiny muscles. Louis throws his head back into the pillow, grinding his teeth.

"Fuck, you’re _ still _ so bloody tight. I fucking _ love _ it," Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips, curling his finger, feeling around.

Louis can feel it move against his walls and his body is devoured in another blissful wave of concupiscence mixed with awkward pain.

It takes a moment to get used to the feeling of something inside his bum. It has been a while, since Harry never got to do this while he was still alive. Plus, his body won’t ever change again, so his bum is as tight as ever. Louis will have to get used to the feeling of being stretched apart. 

Harry spends a long time opening Louis up, being very gentle throughout. As he brings another finger in, he kisses the discomfort off Louis’ lips until there is nothing left but boiling pleasure. All it takes is for Harry to find _ that _ spot and Louis is a moaning, sweaty, praying mess underneath him. He begs for more, not caring that he sounds filthy, feeling desperate and out of his _ fucking _ mind. 

"Harry… I’m g-gonna fucking come if…" he licks his lips, panting heavily. His chest rises and falls quickly. "If you keep doing this, ah _ ugh _, f-fuck—" 

"Isn’t that what you want? To cum?" Harry asks, smirking coyly, his fingers coaxing another moan out of Louis’ chest.

Louis still somehow manages to glare at his boyfriend with narrowed eyes.

"Say it, baby," Harry whispers, curling his fingers.

Louis stutters, losing himself a bit more in the pool of desire. He holds Harry’s shoulders in a death grip, trying to ground himself enough to get the words out. 

“I want you inside me,” Louis says with a gasp, his cock twitching. He doesn’t know if he can hold it back, the need to orgasm growing stronger, blurring the edges of his consciousness.

“But I am inside you already, aren’t I?” To demonstrate his point, Harry caresses the little spot of pleasure inside Louis.

Louis moans, his eyes screwing shut tightly. It takes a second to get a clear thought through the fog of bliss hanging in his mind. “I want your _ cock _ , Harry. C’mon, there, I fucking said it. _ Fuck me _ , p-please. _ Fuck me _." His demand is softened by another groan. His chest is rising and falling, rising and falling. 

"Hmm," Harry licks over Louis’ lips and draws his fingers out, leaving Louis’ arse clenching and needing to be filled up again. However, it at least gives him a moment to catch his breath. 

Louis sucks in air loudly as Harry rolls his own pants down, revealing his red, rock-hard cock. Harry takes himself in his hand, dipping his head back with a throaty moan, exposing the slope of his throat. 

The sight of Harry moving his hand over his own dick is too much. He is a perfect picture of sin and lust. His skin glows in the moonlight shining through the balcony door, and his hair is black in the shadows. His chest glistens with pearls of sweat. Saliva pools inside Louis’ mouth, gathering on his tongue which aches with the longing to taste. 

"No," Louis says with a hoarse voice as his own cock spasms. He has to wrap his fingers around the base of it to stop himself from coming right on the spot. "C’mon please, _ please… _" 

Harry raises his eyebrows, his hand still working over the shaft of his dick. He starts thrusting his hips in tiny quick motions, fucking into his hand. He makes a show of it, his long eyelashes fluttering as he teases himself. "Say it again. Mm… _ugnh_, want to hear you," Harry orders, breathless himself. His stomach muscles clench with each stroke and thrust. 

"Harry," Louis grinds his teeth, sitting upright swiftly. He spreads his hands on Harry’s pale thighs, fingernails digging into his flesh. Their eyes lock in a heated gaze. "Please, fuck me. _ That’s _ my birthday wish, I want you to _ fuck _ me," he states, his attempt to keep a calm composure ruined by the slight tremble in his voice. 

“Hm, that’s more like it,” Harry murmurs. His nose bumps into Louis’, and he kisses him just once before leaning back, his eyes traveling over the length of Louis’ body 

Then, _ thank fuck _, he sits back on his calves, leaning over to the side and opening nightstand drawer. He gets the lube out, not bothering to shut the drawer again before he creeps closer to Louis. 

When Harry is in reach, Louis cups the nape of his neck, bringing them together in a hard, biting kiss, showing Harry how much he wants and adores him, how much he desires him, and how he is nearly exploding with love and lust for his ridiculous, pretty boy. 

Harry guides Louis back gently on the mattress, pecking his jawline. His hands stroke down Louis’ sides until they grip his hips. Harry uncaps the lube and works a good amount over his cock. He does it quickly, apparently less keen now on making Louis wait any longer. 

Harry brings his lubed cock to Louis’ arsehole, the tip playfully circling the ring of muscle as his fingers did earlier. His entryway is still slick with salvia and now mixed with the lube, it makes a wet noise. Louis is so fucking ready for it. 

Harry’s eyes droop shut and he leans forward, pushes in gingerly. They both release long moans. Harry shudders against Louis’ neck as he goes in all the way, staying motionless for a prolonged moment. 

Louis’ chest rises and falls. It doesn’t hurt anymore — well, the desire hurts. His soul aches for more, more, _ more _. 

He is so close, so damn close. He won’t survive this. 

Fog rises around them, blinding Louis. His craving for Harry is now a humming buzz in his bones. Ghost sex is fucking _ insane _. It’s the most intense sex he has ever had. The intensity doesn’t lessen; no matter how many times they touch each other, it feels like the first time over and over again. It’s earth-shattering and breathtaking. 

He wraps his thighs around Harry’s waist, crossing his ankles behind Harry and pressing his heels into his lower back. This causes Harry’s tip to hit his prostate right on and everything goes white behind his closed eyelids. He might moan, but he doesn’t know. He can’t hear anything over the rush in his ears and the loud thundering of his heart. 

Harry lifts himself up, propping his right forearm next to Louis’ head. He cradles Louis’ chin with his left hand, kissing him gently before sucking his lower lip between his teeth as he starts moving his pelvis in tiny back and forth motions. He releases Louis’ slackend mouth but his lips stay attached to his skin, dropping a row of kisses along Louis’ jawline as his hips work. He rolls them slowly, ever so bloody slowly, and has Louis moaning breathlessly in no time. 

Tears spring into the corner of his eyes as his heart fills with love and warmth. He blinks his lashes open and loops his arm around Harry’s neck, his thumb caressing the skin beneath Harry’s ear. 

"I love you," Louis whispers.

Harry's smile is tender as his hooded eyes sparkle at him happily, contrasting his former cocky act. It makes Louis love him even more.

Harry starts thrusting his hips in a steady tempo, picking up pace after three more thrusts. Louis lifts his lower body upward, urging Harry on under his breath. He circles his pelvis in time with Harry’s — both moving towards their orgasms. 

"I love you, I love you…" Harry gasps, falling forward as his thighs tense. He buries his nose in Louis’ hair. "I’m close, I _ can’t — _" 

Louis bites Harry’s shoulder, his orgasm right around the corner. He feels it in his legs, his nerves jerking. His stomach muscles tense. "G-go on —" 

“Fuck…” Harry snaps his hips harder into Louis, his body shaking and sweat gathering between their flushed chests. He chases his own pleasure, moaning hotly into Louis’ neck which is wet with both of their tears.

The wet, slapping sound of skin on skin, melds with the rushing of blood in Louis’ ears. Harry hits his sweet spot over and over. Louis nearly has to pull away because it’s too much. He clings to Harry, alternating between sobbing into Harry’s shoulder and biting his skin while his arms and legs shake around Harry’s frame. He can’t — 

“Hm…” Harry kisses below his eye, a hand sneaking lower and fingers wrapping around the shaft of Louis’ dick, jerking him in rhythm with his thrusts. 

"H, I’m —" Louis only gets out before a wave of pleasure overcomes him and sends him up to heaven. His hips move up and down, not knowing where to go as his pulsing dick shoots cum between their bodies, drops marking his chin. "_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, ah... _" he hears himself chant but feels as if he is underwater, his voice sounding far away as a ringing sound echoes through his brain. 

Louis’ world turns to black, then white, then to dazed colours behind his eyelids. He feels Harry still moving inside him and it’s too much, too much, _ too much. _He shivers, shudders as the aftermath of bliss pools in his belly. 

Harry vibrates against him, his muscles tensing and shaking as he comes inside Louis, filling him with warm liquid. His strength leaves his limbs and he crashes on top of Louis, crushing him into the mattress. The weight is welcome, though, comforting him in the aftermath of his orgasm. 

They both breathe heavily, laying completely still, wrapped around one another as they come back down from their ride to the sky and back. 

"Fuck," Harry exhales, his voice laced with exhaustion. He doesn’t move an inch, neither of them yet ready to depart from the other.

Louis feels safe trapped under Harry’s weight.

"I love you so much, baby," Harry says, his voice sounding choked up and muffled. 

"I love you, too," Louis says. He drops a kiss to Harry’ temple, feeling cum leak out of him as he wiggles his bum. 

It takes another beat for Harry to prop himself up on his forearms before leaning back on his calves. His torso is wet and red with sweat and his shoulder shows bite marks that Louis left in his ecstasy. They look quite pretty, although they won’t last for long. Carefully, he slips his cock out of Louis. Only a second later, he inserts his fingers back inside him. 

Louis’ breath hitches in his throat as Harry’s fingers move in and out of him easily, his entryway wet with cum, lube, and spit. It hurts just a little bit because he’s sensitive, but it’s a _ good _ kind of pain — Louis wants to feel it every day. 

Louis’ hips move backward into the mattress, then into Harry’s fingers. His hips don’t know what to do as Louis’ brain is blissed out mush. Harry makes the decision for Louis and his confused, tired body. He draws his fingers out with a slurping sound, bringing them to his lips. Louis watches with hooded eyes as he licks them, closing his lids and moaning like it’s as good as the meal they had for dinner. 

"How do I taste?" Louis rasps.

"Like…" Harry smacks his lips as if he’s taking Louis’ stupid question seriously, "salt crackers." 

Louis laughs throatily. Harry grins at him cheekily in return. Louis sighs. 

"I’ll get us a towel," Harry says, leaning forward to peck Louis’ lips. He slips off the bed, padding to the door naked as he is, then vanishing completely. The door opens seemingly of its own accord before closing softly. 

Louis rolls to his side, feeling more cum leaking from his butt as he does so. He wrinkles his nose at the awkward feeling.

It takes only a second before the door opens and closes and Harry reappears. "I nearly ran into Niall. I think he knew someone was in the bathroom with him. He stopped his singing for a moment." Harry shakes his head, amusement clear on his face. 

"Ha — what was he singing?" Louis asks with a lazy yawn. 

"ABBA._ Dancing Queen _." 

"Of course." Louis rolls his eyes, taking the offered towel from Harry and rubbing it on his chest before cleaning his cock and bum. "We should shower, too." 

"Hm, yeah. Blowjobs sound good," Harry winks at him. "But we truly have to hurry now. We're gonna leave in like fifteen minutes." 

Louis pouts but it subsides quickly. They both have been looking forward to their usual pub night ever since the last one. And this time so many more will join them, including Lottie, her fiancé, and even Zayn and Liam. They pressured them into tagging along, using Louis’ birthday as the pressure point for everyone to come. Obviously, Niall was the first to sign up. 

Speaking of Niall — 

The door rips open, revealing Niall standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his hips. He doesn’t bat an eye at their nudity, just glares at Harry. 

"Don’t interrupt my shower solo another time! I mean it!" he exclaims to Harry, and before they have time to react, he slams the door shut, leaving them in stunned silence. 

Louis and Harry share eyebrow raised glances before falling into a fit of boyish, breathy giggles. 

* * * 

"Oh my god, no. Guys no —" Niall’s shoulders are wracked by a wheezy laugh which comes out in a white little puff due to the crisp air, "it was different! Like, I told him, _ ‘sir, sir, you’ve got it all wrong’. _" He exhales deeply, taking a moment to gather himself and wiping his eyes which are wet with tears of joy and laughter. 

Harry exits behind him out of the door which Liam is holding open. Louis watches his friend in amusement as he tries to calm down enough to continue his story. They fall into step, leaving the pub behind. Liam closes the door and the music and chatter become muffled as they walk down the street. Liam jogs to catch up to them. 

Louis and Harry interlock their hands, swinging them between their bodies. 

"Anyway, I tell him that we didn’t try to have sex in a lecture room, no, she asked me for a tutoring and got a tad too close and he…" Niall starts wheezing once more, his voice shaking, "looked me straight in the face and told me that he doesn’t get paid enough for his job! You guys, I’m not fucking lying, that’s what he said! You know that one professor, Louis, right? The one that always smells of whiskey?" Niall looks at him behind Harry’s back.

Louis shakes his head, a grin on his face. His smile has been etched on his lips the entire day, but his cheeks aren’t tired of it yet. "Yeah, yeah, how could I forget. We nicknamed him Professor Jacky D for a reason, man." 

"Right?" Niall barks. "So he, like, just turned and left after he said that. Like, hello? We’re still here, no reason to shut off the lights?" 

Zayn chuckles. "That," he says, pausing for dramatic effect, "never happened. I don’t believe it." 

Liam disagrees with his boyfriend. "I mean, it’s possible. It’s university, I bet weird shit like that happens all the time and the professors are all just done." He smiles easily at Niall. “No wonder he has to start drinking before class starts.” 

Niall snaps his fingers, grinning widely. "See, I like Liam." 

They discuss a bit more whether Niall’s story holds any truth to it. Louis guesses that sure Niall and Hannah were getting it on in a lecture room and Professor Jacky D happened to walk by. What Louis doesn’t believe is that Niall would leave the door open though. _ Ts, ts, careless. _He makes sure to tell him that and gets a reddened face in return. 

"I mean, I don't wanna throw Hannah under the bus here, but like…" Niall rubs the back of his neck, wrinkling his nose in embarrassment. 

Harry laughs quietly, the sound pleasant to Louis’ ears. He shivers a bit. 

"Kinky." When Louis looks at Harry, he lifts his eyebrows shortly, a suggestion in his eyes that Louis denies with a shake of his head. 

"Not in this house," he tuts. 

Harry pouts at him. 

"Someday, maybe…" Louis gives in and Harry smirks.

Harry is so much more confident with sex than he used to be. It makes Louis’ heart swell in his chest. He squeezes Harry’s hand. 

"Anyway, guys," Liam exhales, coming to a stand and oh wow — Louis hadn’t noticed that they were so close to home already.

The conversation had carried on and followed them through town and down the street. Now they are standing by the crossroad that leads to either Zayn’s or Jay’s house.

"It was a blast, seriously." Liam embraces Louis, patting his back.

Louis hugs him back, though awkwardly because Harry doesn’t let go of his hand. Ever since they had sex, they have been attached to one another in any way that they can get away with — whether it’s only their shoulders lining up, Louis’ hand on Harry’s thigh, or their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders as they sang on stage.

"Thank you for that work-out DVD," Louis says as they part. 

Liam rolls his eyes. "It was meant as a joke." 

"We’ll come by tomorrow," Zayn steps into Louis’ arms next. "Tonight was nice. I mean… the ghosts sucked but hey, Lottie seemed to enjoy herself." 

Right, because his sister had loved the atmosphere of the pub so much that she and Tommy chose to stay a bit longer. Louis wanted to join them, but Harry had urged them to go and since Niall had to drive to the airport early in the morning, the group of lads went home together. It was an amazing night though. 

First, they had a few rounds of easy pints, getting tipsy until Niall couldn’t sit still any longer. Then they performed on the top of the bar, Niall playing his guitar and Louis playing his new guitar. Their voices flowed together wonderfully, Harry adding a fascinating sound to Niall and Louis’ voices and giving them a rounded edge. The crowd loved them even more when Niall sang with them. Lottie danced with Tommy on their table. Zayn and Liam cheered from the side, Zayn sitting down while Liam jumped up and down. After that Niall bid the barman to only play Ed Sheeran songs and most of their talks were about that. Nobody really could believe that someone like Sheeran took a liking to Louis’ song or Niall’s singing, which offended both of them a bit, since, _ c’mon _ they are amazing albeit unknown. But by the end, neither of them were pouting anymore — Ed Sheeran is after all _ Ed Sheeran. _ It’s Louis’ favourite birthday, ever. That still stands. If he could relive one day for the rest of time, it’d be today. It couldn’t get any more perfect. 

"Yeah, yeah, she’s having a blast," Louis nods, giving Zayn’s back a friendly pat before they, too, part. 

Niall jumps into both of Zayn and Liam’s arms, being his usual charming self as he kisses their cheeks and the tops of their heads. Zayn pretends to grumble at the gesture and sudden closeness but Louis sees right through his act — nobody can resist Niall for long. Liam smiles widely, giggling. He is already used to Niall’s open, loving personality. 

Harry gets a hug from them both, too, and Louis’ heart bursts with warmth.They have come a long way from being strangers to hating one another to now feeling as close as brothers. He couldn’t ask for more. He never thought it would be possible to find friends like these, to find a boyfriend like Harry who loves him limitlessly and makes sure to let Louis know, always. Louis loves every single one of them fiercely in return. 

They all wave and Niall, Harry, and Louis continue their walk. This time nobody says anything for a few metres, the only sounds being their breathing, aligned heartbeats, and the snow crunching under their soles. It lasts until Niall’s eyes flicker nervously from Harry to Louis. 

"What is it?" Louis asks at last.

"I wanna say goodnight now, too," Niall grins. Before Louis can ask why, Niall has him wrapped against his front. "Have fun tonight!" 

"What?" Louis asks, dumbfounded. 

Niall’s eyebrows waggle and he zips his lips shut, winking over Louis’ shoulder at Harry. When Louis looks at him in question, Harry gives a coy shrug, pursing his pink lips slightly. 

Well, okay…

Niall kisses Harry’s cheek despite Harry’s attempts to fight him off, and then he splits off from their group. A moment later, it’s only Harry and Louis. Instead of following Niall’s footsteps towards the house, Harry pulls him in the direction of the forest. 

"Where are we going?" Louis wonders, letting himself be tugged along into the darkness. 

"You’ll see," Harry says.

"Fine," Louis huffs, jogging a few steps to catch up with Harry’s long legs. 

It only takes a second for them to get where they are going. Louis’ breath hitches in his throat as excitement sweeps through his bones. 

"Isn’t it too cold?" Louis scrunches his nose, glancing at white-covered world around them. Their shoes crunch and squeak as they walk over the wet, snow covered leaves. 

"Nah, it’ll be fine," Harry shrugs it off, speeding up their pace until the trees lessen and they step into the white field.

The lake lies still in front of them, half frozen and reflecting the angelic moonlight. It’s the most exquisite thing Louis has ever seen and his exhale comes in a little puff of fog. He should have known Harry wanted to go to the lake because it has become their monthly tradition. When it was still warm outside, they would dip their feet in the water or go for a night swim. On other nights they laid on the grass, watching the full moon sparkle back at them. No matter what they did here, this place holds some of Louis’ fondest memories, which now fill his heart with even more love and honestly, that shouldn’t be possible.

However, what catches Louis’ eye isn’t only how the lake looks like a winter wonderland and how beautiful everything is, but a dark part of the ground which has been cleared of snow. The area is circled with stones and inside is a stack of wood that reaches up to the crystal clear sky in a sort of arrow. That has never been there before, and the sight makes Louis’ eyebrows quirk. 

“What is this?” Louis wonders, taking a step closer before stopping to send Harry an awed gaze over his shoulder. 

Harry smiles softly at him, the moon casting his face in a silver light. “You know…” he starts. Although it’s dark, Louis can see a blush tinting Harry’s cheekbones, and he doesn’t think it’s from the cold. “Well, I had this entire thing planned a while back. The night when… y’know,” his gaze shifts to the ground and he clears his throat, “when everything basically went to shit.” 

Louis’ stomach gives a little tug at the unpleasant reminder. His forehead furrows as he waits for Harry to struggle through the mental process of saying whatever he is on about. 

“I wanted to say goodbye to you properly that night. Just us, no pub, nobody else, right?” Harry continues, staring holes through his shoes. His mop of curls hangs like a curtain made out of hair. “But that never worked out, did it? I know it’s a bit too late for a bonfire, but that’s what I had planned on that Saturday night,” Harry shrugs. “Jay had helped me prepare some sandwiches for us — well, I guess, for you mostly — and those biscuits you like so much." 

“Harry…” Louis’ eyes sting. 

"I wanted to do it in autumn, but it felt too fresh. Every time I tried to bring it up, I couldn’t, because it reminded me that on that night I almost lost you completely. If I had just been at the house and not bloody here to set it all up —" 

"Stop it," Louis cuts in before this conversation takes off and spirals down the rabbit hole of what happened with the demon. It’s Louis’ _ birthday _ . He is still _ here _, and frankly, he has so much going for him, that the demon is just not something he’d like to talk about, now or ever again. It’s done. They have gone over this too many times already. 

Harry blinks up at him, tilting his head slightly to the right. "I’m just saying, I still wanted to do something special for you. So here it is." He stretches his arms out to his sides. 

Their eyes meet and Louis softens, his chest deflating and the knot in his stomach untangling. 

They look quietly at each other for a beat before Harry picks up where he left off, apparently not quite done with his explanation yet. As if he _ has _ to explain himself, which he _ doesn’t _. Louis doesn’t need to be won over anymore. Harry is already carrying a large part of Louis’ soul within his heart and Louis wouldn’t want it any other way. 

"I guess I like the idea now much better: the bonfire and the lake. There is no goodbye anymore, is there?" 

"Only forever." Louis’ smile is wobbly, and perhaps he should stop Harry from talking, because his eyes sting dangerously now. He doesn’t want to cry. It’s his birthday, goddamnit. 

"Only forever," Harry repeats, "and what night is more special than your birthday? I guess my idea isn’t really _ that _ special, but it’s not like I can get out the big guns like Niall." 

They chuckle quietly at that. It’s still surreal to think about. 

"Maybe…" Self-doubt is present on Harry’s beautiful face, clear as day, "I should have waited until summer again, we could’ve taken a boat out —" 

“Now where’d we get a boat from?” Louis lifts a single eyebrow, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Harry smiles. “I don’t know, actually. Maybe I could build one. I’ve always been good with my hands.” 

Louis snorts. “That you are, love.” 

“Anyway, so no boat, but —” 

“Haz,” Louis stops Harry’s rambling, reaching out for his hand and tugging until his stupid, wonderful boyfriend gets the hint and stumbles closer on his baby deer legs. “This is _ perfect _. It’s more than special. I love it. I would have loved to spend our last night together that way, too. I’m just glad there won’t be any last nights ever again.” Louis kisses him, needing to be close. 

The corner of Harry’s mouth turns south. “It’s just that I can’t do much for —” 

“It’s fucking perfect, Harry,” Louis rolls his eyes, kissing him again in a quick, sweet connection of warm lips. “A bonfire. How romantic are you?” 

“I try my best.” Harry shrugs. He smells of their time spent at the pub, and it’s lovely. “When I was a child I used to enjoy the bonfires until I understood what they were for.” 

“Sh…” Louis shushes into his jawline. 

“No, let me say this,” Harry’s eyes are intense so close up. “This summer, autumn, and winter have given me so many new memories in the house, so many happy ones. I guess, I want a bonfire to be our thing now, too. I don’t want to live in the past anymore, not when I have a future with you.” 

Louis’ heart is full with love to the brim. He doesn’t even know what to say to that, tongue-tied and so in love it _ hurts _. Harry is so strong, putting his past behind himself, and becoming a new, more confident, open person. Louis absolutely adores seeing him bloom and grow. He sparkles so brightly that the stars pale in comparison. 

“Maybe I’m being stupid —”

“Oh shush, you,” Louis shakes his head at Harry, kissing his cheek where his dimple would normally show. This night is too angelic for any doubt. “Let’s get it started then.” He takes a step backwards and turns, stalking to the prepared wood that is just waiting to go up in flames. He has never made a bonfire before, and definitely not in winter, but they will make it work. 

Once he gets closer to the set-up, it registers in his brain that the bonfire isn’t the only thing waiting for them. On a piece of wood sits a stack of blankets. He recognises one knit by his grandma in the neatly folded stack. On top of that there are two familiar tupperware containers, one with chocolate chip cookies and the other with —

“Is that weed?” Louis blinks at it, a bit dumbfounded. He turns the tupperware over in his hand. 

“_ Okay _,” Harry says, hesitation in his voice, “that wasn’t actually my idea, alright? Zayn helped set it up.” 

Louis can’t help but snort and shake his head. Of course that’s how Zayn would ensure that they have a great time together. “I can’t believe you guys, preparing this all behind my back.” 

“Liam and Niall helped, too. Couldn’t have done it without them, so.” Harry comes up behind him, looping his arms around his middle and Louis melts into Harry’s embrace. 

"Thank you," Louis murmurs. 

Harry presses his lips, dry and familiar, to his temple in a silent answer. 

It takes a while for them to get the fire to start due to the snow and wetness all around. However, after a good half an hour and a handful of complaints (_ ‘holy shit, you leave a candle on and your house burns down but if you want to make a bonfire suddenly the fire is shy’ _), a few lazy flames lick their way up to the sky. It’s beautiful, the embers crackling happily in the night, warming their fronts and hands. The blaze paints a warm orange glow over the half-frozen lake and dances in Harry’s eyes. 

It is special, Harry was right about that. Louis never wants tonight to end. He wants to stay here. 

Harry and Louis spread the blankets on the snow-free area and get comfortable. 

Louis’ back is against Harry’s chest, their legs lining up in front of them in a triangle shape. On his upper thigh, Louis rolls them a joint, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and his face set in concentration. He’s a bit clumsy because he can’t smoke at the house with his mother and her way too sensible nose around and _ well _, he can’t go to Zayn’s place anymore. Therefore he is out of practice. 

Eventually, the joint is rolled (although awfully so) and lit. The smell alone lets him relax, and nostalgia sits in the base of his throat. Just like the lake, there are so many memories tied to the scent that make his eyes burn slightly. Nights spent in Bristol, sitting on their ratty couch with Niall and Perrie creep into the back of his mind. Louis shakes it off, though. They will tell Perrie when they tell Perrie, and she is going to hate him for a while, but eventually she, too, as Lottie did, will come around. Louis is sure of it. 

Inhaling the first drag, an idea pops up into his mind. He exhales too quickly, wasting the weed before the fumes have had any chance to settle in his lungs. He turns around in Harry’s arms. 

“Do you want to try something?” he smirks, waggling his brows. 

“What?” Harry eyes him suspiciously. 

Louis sucks in the herby fumes, keeping them in his lungs for a moment and enjoying the way Harry is looking at him with hooded, shadowed eyes. 

Carefully, Louis cups Harry’s chin, his fingers squeezing his cheeks minutely to signal for Harry to open his mouth. When he does, Louis leans in closer so that their lips are nearly touching. He exhales the smoke directly into Harry’s awaiting mouth and Harry inhales on reflex, sucking the smoke down. Louis licks his dry lips, biting down on his bottom lip. The lake can be as beautiful as it wants to be, but Harry will always be more beautiful. His hair is mussed from their time at the pub, the singing, the awful heat, and his eyes are affected by the alcohol, gazed over, and luminous in the flickers of the crackling fire. Harry holds his gaze as he releases the smoke through his nostrils, his shoulders relaxing. 

Harry hums, lashes fluttering lazily. He wets his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue.

Louis can’t look away, his stomach flipping.

“Kiss me.” 

Louis doesn’t have to be told twice. He seals their lips in a too innocent kiss. Of course, it turns to something more the moment their lips touch a second time. 

Louis opens his lips on top of Harry’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth with a wet noise. Harry moans, unabashed and loud in the quiet environment but there is nobody around to hear it. His hand resting on Louis’ lower back brings them closer together until their chests are flushed. Louis wraps his free hand, the one not holding the spliff, around the back of Harry’s neck, fingers stroking through the soft, fine curls. 

Harry turns his head, a low whine coming from deep inside his ribcage as he cups Louis’ jaw, their tongues meeting halfway. Louis moans into the dry heat of Harry’s mouth. He won’t ever get tired of kissing Harry. His chest purrs with another noise of pleasure as Harry’s hand slides from the small of his back to his arse, squeezing. It causes Louis’ hips to thrust forward and he nearly loses his already shaky hold on the joint. 

They break apart for air, and Harry brings their foreheads together. 

It’s the closest you can be to another person, Louis thinks hazily. The only barrier between their minds and thoughts are their skulls. 

"I love you," Louis murmurs, pressing another kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. 

"I love you," Harry’s response is murmured into his cheek. 

With a sigh, Louis sits back, but he keeps his hand in Harry’s hair, running his fingers through it. By now the blunt has gone out, and Louis brings it back to his mouth, a smile on his lips. Harry fumbles around the blanket for the lighter and a moment later, not only the smoke from the bonfire swirls around them but the relaxing scent of weed engulfs them, too. Louis turns around again, scooting back so that he can lean against Harry’s chest as he inhales. 

"This is my favourite birthday," Louis says, handing Harry the spliff over his shoulder.

Harry takes it carefully from him and hums, exhaling smoke over their heads. 

They watch the flames dance for a moment, just happy to be here and experience the night as it is. The effects of the weed make him feel cozy, and the warmth of the fire spreads over his face. It’s quiet and nice and there is no need for conversation. They just enjoy each other’s company and the wonderful sight of their lake. It’s lovely. 

At some point, they share the chocolate chip cookies between them and, _ fuck _, Louis has really missed food, these biscuits, especially. They are his favourites after all. It’s funny how he never saw Harry eating before he died, not even on a full moon’s night. 

When Louis had asked him a while back why he never ate even though he could have, Harry had said that eating and food were never on his mind. He hadn’t eaten so much as a bite for so long that his body was unused to it, too. But since Louis, well, _ died, _things have changed massively. Jay makes sure both of them eat a full plate when there is a full moon, at least. 

“You’re right,” Harry muses, licking some chocolate off his thumb. “They _ are _amazing.” 

“Told you.” Louis smiles, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable.

Harry tightens his arms around him. “Aren’t you missing something?” Harry whispers in his ear, causing a shiver to roll through Louis’ body.

Louis’ nerves tingle, so very sensitive from the marijuana. He swallows thickly. The question drags through his slow brain. When it registers, Louis pauses, brows furrowed. “Huh? No. You’re here. I think I’m good. Perfect, actually.”

Harry chuckles, pulling a bit on Louis’ shoulder until he gets the hint and rotates, kneeling between Harry’s spread legs. Louis raises his eyebrows in a silent question. 

Harry smiles at him, pecking his nose quickly. "Today is your birthday and everyone gave you a gift but me," he drawls, voice even slower, deeper. 

Obviously Louis had noted that, but he didn’t really care. He was just happy to have Harry by his side and in his arms. He isn’t really fussed about it but now that Harry himself has brought the subject up, Louis perks in interest. He nods. "I was very heartbroken about that," he jokes. 

"Well, I had no idea what to give you, actually," Harry murmurs, rubbing a gentle hand over Louis’ back. His green eyes are fixed somewhere on Louis’ chest, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "It was pretty hard since I couldn’t leave the house like Zayn or whatever. I wanted to write you another song but that’s also hard, especially now that we are around each other so much." 

It’s true. Ever since That Night, Louis and Harry have been glued at the hip, doing most things together. Neither of them ever protests about it, though. Mostly it’s the other way around; when one of them disappears, the other makes a search party out of it. They have become co-dependent, Louis knows that, but somehow it works for them. They are each other’s safe haven, he guesses, and he doesn’t want to change a thing about it. He just feels better when he knows where Harry is, though it’s not like either of them can be really far from each other. 

"Okay," Louis says, coaxing him to go on with a nod and a hopefully reassuring smile.

"So I talked to Zayn, right? And I guess he was still feeling pretty guilty so I could bully him into it, easily," Harry smirks, cheeks dimpling. "Anyway, he found a ghost hunter." 

Louis rolls his head back, staring into the sky. In a deadpan manner, he says, "Please don’t tell me —" 

"No more banishing, no," Harry chuckles, sniffing. "But I asked them if —" he cuts himself off abruptly. "Best if I show you," he says instead, getting something out of his pocket.

Louis frowns slightly as Harry holds out his closed fist, an uncertain look on his face. "We’ve been watching so many ghost hunting videos on YouTube lately and they always use these weird little recording things to communicate with ghosts —" 

"You know that they are frauds, right?" Louis grins, cheeky.

They both are well aware that if those people on YouTube were actually mediums, they wouldn’t need any equipment that shows body heat or whatever. They would be able to spot ghosts with their own eyes. Or, maybe they are just trying to catch spirits. Either way, Louis isn’t impressed by their overdramatic reactions and overly long videos that show absolutely nothing. Niall’s haunted house videos are at least more creative and a fun time. But Louis is probably biased. 

"Yeah, yeah I know," Harry pushes slightly against Louis’ chest, not enough to make him fall backwards, just to cause him to lose a bit of his balance.

Louis steadies himself with a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

"I’m just saying, it made me curious, alright? So I asked Zayn about it and he —" Again, Harry cuts himself off suddenly. As an explanation, he opens his fist, revealing a black device. 

"What is it?" Louis asks, pursing his lips. Perhaps it’s because it’s dark, but he can’t make out more besides a black, rectangle-shaped box. Maybe that’s all it is. 

"It’s a recorder,” Harry cocks his head to the side, blinking down at the device in his hand, “for ghosts," Harry adds in a whisper, a smile playing around his lips as he watches Louis’ reaction closely. 

"Haz, I think we can communicate just fine, don’t you think?" Louis grins, surging forward and planting a quick kiss underneath Harry’s left eye. 

"Oh, piss off," Harry laughs quietly, no heat behind his words. He rolls his eyes, lightly. "It’s used to record ghost activity, noises, voices, and stuff like that so that the fraud ghost hunters can talk to them. I asked Zayn if it actually works, and, well, his answer was _ yes _." 

"Okay…" Louis still has no idea what Harry is actually on about, but maybe a part of him has already figured it out on its own because his heart starts pounding heavily in his chest. 

"I know you miss recording songs. With that, you could still upload them on YouTube. But perhaps," Harry says, his eyes bright and a teasing, crooked smile on his lips, "perhaps you don’t need to do that anymore, since now you’re a professional _ ghost-songwriter _ and all. You’re probably too good for something mundane as YouTube, huh?"

Louis stops breathing. He blinks at Harry, trying to process what he said, what it means. 

"It records ghost voices in a wonderful, clear quality. There’s no static sounds or stupid background noises. Zayn and I tested it, and it works like a normal microphone. See," Harry turns it, pointing to two little holes in the device, "you can connect it to your computer. No idea how it works, but I guess you’ll figure it out. That way you can still upload covers to YouTube or your original songs, whatever really. Maybe you can make a demo for some label?" Harry shrugs as if it’s nothing, like his gift did not just flip Louis’ world upside down once again. 

Louis’ mouth pops open. "I can record my voice with it," he whispers, awestruck. 

"Yes, basically." 

"I can record songs." He blinks, wishing they hadn’t smoked before this. 

"_ Uh-huh _," Harry grins now that Louis is catching on. 

"Fuck," Louis exhales, taking the device from Harry with shaky fingers and bringing it close to his face. Now he can see buttons and a dark display. It kind of looks like a walky-talky or an old Gameboy. 

"Do you… like it? I mean, it’s not as great as Ed Sheeran wanting to buy and cover your song, but —" 

Louis shuts him up with a fierce kiss, the recorder tumbling between them and falling into the safety of the blanket as Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. He doesn’t stop kissing him until both of their lungs run out of air. 

"I fucking," Louis says, kissing Harry again, "love," — another kiss — "_ it _. Holy fucking shit?" A disbelieving, happy laugh bubbles up his throat.

Harry’s face brightens, his lips curving upward in a smile so joyful that his eyes nearly shut and his dimples are so deep that Louis could put an M&M in them and it would stick. 

"We can upload a duet together," Louis realises aloud. He cups Harry’s cheeks, his thumbs stroking over his cheekbones, forefingers caressing around the dimples. "I, I fuck — thank you, thank _ you _." A single tear builds in the corner of his eye and as he blinks, it drops off his eyelashes. 

"Don’t cry, baby," Harry murmurs, bringing his arms around Louis’ frame. Louis sinks into his gentle embrace, bedding the side of his head on Harry’s shoulder. He nuzzles the curve of his neck, pressing a kiss there too. 

"Happy tears," Louis murmurs. "I’m so happy, my love." 

"I love you," Harry whispers back, squeezing him tightly. 

"I love you, too." 

The fire crackles around them, the lake reflects the full moon, and their hearts are aligned. Louis might have died, but in the end, so much good has happened since his death. Louis had never felt this fulfilled and happy in his life. It’s quite ironic, actually, that he had to die for his life to take off, with Ed Sheehan’s phone number saved in his contacts, the promise of a songwriting career written in the stars, and the boy that he loves more than anything in his arms. No matter what the future holds for them, they will make it work. They have forever to figure it out. 

"_ Endlessly _," Louis whispers. 

The feeling of love is overpowering and it makes Louis shiver in Harry’s hug. He draws back, but not by much, their lips finding each other blindly and slotting together seamlessly. Everything he can’t express in words, he kisses into Harry’s mouth: that he loves him more than he thought possible, that death isn’t quite as scary as he expected it to be, that he can’t wait for that’s to come and finally — 

That he is happy.

_ They _ are happy.

Louis is so unbelievably glad that he joined Harry in the afterlife. 

*** * * **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some extra fluff: 
> 
> *Two years after Louis' death, Louis and Harry get married on a full moons night at the lake with the help of the priest, Amber is their flower girl. It's a proper ghost wedding. 
> 
> **Zayn's wedding's gift is that he figured out the spell how to untie the ghosts from the house, however they have to return to Jay's house every full moons night to recharge. 
> 
> ***Not only did Louis become a song-writer but Harry did as well, Niall made it as a singer (and dropped out of uni) and when he met Shawn Mendes for the first time at one of his concert, he fainted. 
> 
> ****Louis buys a house in London (under Niall's name). The house comes with a fireplace, of course. 
> 
> okay, phew that said - this is the end and I'm crying, this fic is my baby and I enjoyed working on it SO much. I poured my entire soul into it. 
> 
> Your comments always brought so much joy into my every day life and gave me such a boost of motivation and happiness, you guys are the best THANK YOU so, so, so much for reading, giving this fic a chance and sticking around to the end. I hope you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope I could entertain you guys a little in this surreal time. 
> 
> here is the [fic post](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/post/188726753141/join-me-in-the-afterlife-by-guccikings) if you'd like to reblog. If you'd like to come for a chat, you can find me on [tumblr](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/) !! <3
> 
> a MASSIVE Thank you to [Serena](https://tempolarriefix.tumblr.com/) for editing this lengthy fic, I love you so much, thank you for your endless support! x 
> 
> okay this is like the longest end note ever, haha. That all said, kudos and comments make me the happiest, so please feel free to leave your thoughts behind. Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> i love you all so much, stay safe guys xxxxx

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of jmita! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated. 
> 
> Here is the [fic post](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/post/188726753141/join-me-in-the-afterlife) if you want to rb! 
> 
> lots of love and happy halloween! xx


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